


Action!

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff, Humor, I guess you might call it a caper?, Some Comics Inspiration, callbacks, so many callbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: Karen loves her role as Paige on the hit legal dramaHell’s Kitchen, especially now that she’s getting more screen time with the show’s leading man, Matt Murdock. But crushing on a co-star is probably a bad idea, and meanwhile there’s something fishy going on with Karen’s on-screen boss — show business powerhouse Wilson Fisk.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 133
Kudos: 70
Collections: Karedevil Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to Quietshade, irelandhoneybee and LittleDidTheyKnow for their feedback, encouragement and endless support! And thanks to all the Karedevil Squad members who cheered on this idea!
> 
> Written for my Karedevil Bingo free space. Prompt: "AU: actors"

Karen snuggled a little closer to Matt, taking care to make sure her hair fell just so over the silk pillow beneath her. She wanted to get lost in the moment, but it was still important to achieve the right aesthetic. Her brow was slightly dampened and her cheeks were flushed — she hoped she was giving off the right amount of sparkle.

“We shouldn’t keep doing this,” Matt said huskily, his voice vibrating through her chest and settling low in her belly. It wasn’t hard to make her own tone soft and breathy in return.

“But how can we stop?” She closed her eyes and reopened them slowly. “Do you…” Her lips trembled as she inhaled. “Do you _want_ to stop?”

“As far as I’m concerned, darling, we’re just getting started.” Matt captured her lips in a scorching kiss, and she tilted her chin at a precise angle so the action would read well on camera. She knew exactly what to expect from Matt’s kisses. He was always careful to go through the scenes with her ahead of time, explaining what he was thinking, checking on where he planned to put his hands. Hands that were always warm, just like his lips were always soft.

She had never worked with a fellow actor who was so considerate. She had never had a job that felt less like work.

Love scenes were supposed to be awkward to film, everyone knew that. It was Hollywood 101. Sure, you got to kiss someone beautiful, but there were other people in the room, staring at you, and the temperature of the set was always freezing, and you were probably jockeying for more screen time or better reviews than the person faux-feeling you up. And you never knew if the guy who seemed plenty nice at the table read would be the one who tried to stick his tongue down your throat.

No, love scenes weren’t sexy at all.

Unless you were filming love scenes with Matt Murdock.

Frankly, Karen had been nervous about this job. A blind actor in a lead role was almost unheard of, and she was worried that she’d have trouble playing scenes with him, even though she would never have breathed a word of it for fear of being insensitive. The original actor cast for her part had dropped out at the last minute, though, and Karen absolutely couldn’t turn down such a high-profile role. An hour-long drama in primetime on a major network? Not prestige cable, where she’d have to show her boobs every other episode, or a streaming show from a service no one had ever heard of. No-shit, real-deal TV. Accepting the role of Paige on _Hell’s Kitchen_ was a no-brainer.

In the beginning, her scenes with Matt had been scarce. She was on the villain’s team, after all — Paige was an operative for the rotten, scheming mayor in _Hell’s Kitchen’s_ fictionalized version of New York, while Matt played Mike, the charming hotshot lawyer who somehow always managed to help his clients win against the corrupt police and the mayor’s cronies.

But those few scenes with Matt had crackled on screen — catching Karen as much by surprise as anyone. He was the most exciting actor she’d ever worked with. It was almost like he knew every single thing she was going to do right before she did it, and it allowed them to constantly be on the same page with how to make the scripts come to life.

So, for Season 2, the writers had decided to throw in a twist. Conniving Paige had developed a soft spot in her heart for Mike, and the two had embarked on a secret affair that could be disastrous for them both.

And Karen was having the time of her life. The writing for her character had gotten even more nuanced and layered, she was getting more screen time, and her profile was rising with industry tastemakers. All for a job that felt more like play.

If there was a problem at all — and Karen was hesitant to say that there was, for fear of jinxing everything — it was what was happening right now. Matt’s silky-hot lips were making hers tingle, and his slightly calloused hand was sending shivers through her as it whispered over her bare skin.

Her body was _reacting_ , not acting.

And it wasn’t just physical attraction. That wouldn’t be such a big deal. That would just make fake foreplay in front of strangers more fun. Instead, the aching joy that fizzed through her like a magnum of champagne every time that she was this close to Matt could only mean one thing.

She had a crush on her co-star. The big, sloppy, mooney-eyed, chin-in-your-hand daydreaming kind of crush.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

“You OK?” Matt asked as they pulled on their robes before heading off the set. His hair was mussed from all the rolling around they’d done for the scene, and she wished she had permission to put her fingers through it off camera.

“Oh, sure, um, yeah,” Karen stammered, almost cursing his uncanny ability to read her, even though that was exactly why they were so good together on screen. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a little smile. “I’ve definitely had worse days on the job. But you seemed concerned.”

Karen sighed. “I guess I was thinking about this interview,” she lied, feeling annoyed at the skepticism that flitted across his features. She was an actor, dammit, but she never fully succeeded in fooling him. But he didn’t call her on it. Instead, he took her elbow and they walked together off set.

“Usually I’m the one who gets nervous about interviews,” Matt said.

And with good reason. Matt was a rarity in the world of acting, and interviewers’ tendencies to repeat the same questions over and over grated for him even more than most. But Matt managed to handle even the insensitive queries with good grace.

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about asshole questions from Ben Urich. He’s an actual pro.”

“That’s exactly why I’m not nervous for once,” Matt said. “So why are you?”

“Because he’s Ben fucking Urich?” Karen said. And she realized she wasn’t lying. She _was_ nervous about this interview. “He’s like a celebrity in his own right. He’s a legend.”

Ben Urich had been well-known for decades now thanks to his insightfully dishy celebrity cover stories in _Beau Monde_ magazine — profiles of the likes of Meryl Streep and Harrison Ford. And today, he was interviewing Karen Page of Fagan Corners, Vermont. It was more than a little dizzying.

Karen stopped as they reached the point where they needed to separate to head to their respective dressing rooms to get changed. Matt moved his hand to her shoulder as he turned toward her.

“We’ll get through it together,” he said. “Just like all the rest.”

They had done a lot of joint publicity for _Hell’s Kitchen_ , especially once the producers realized their relationship could boost interest in Season 2.

“We have had a lot of practice,” Karen said lightly, trying to ignore the way the heat of his hand was sinking through the thin silk of her robe. “You’re probably getting tired of hearing me talk.”

“Not at all,” Matt said, and her eyes caught on the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “You’ve got a great voice.”

Karen bit her lip as her stomach did a slow somersault. But before she could respond, she heard someone clapping briskly behind her.

“Hey, guys, hate to break up the bonding moment, but we’re on a clock here,” Foggy said. “Ben Urich waits for no man. Or woman. Or person, for that matter.”

“Hi, Foggy,” Karen said with a goofy smile. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to seeing _the_ Foggy Nelson in person. He had been a mainstay on her TV through her childhood and adolescence. His long-running sitcom _Thick ‘n’ Thin_ was her absolute favorite show. She watched religiously every week, even through the long summers of reruns. The theme song still occasionally snuck into her head when she saw him, and she had to strictly restrain her urge to sing. And to pinch his cheeks.

“Shoo,” Foggy said, smiling back at her. “Go away and come back looking fabulous. You have ten minutes. No, make that nine.” He looked pointedly at his watch.

Karen did as instructed, though she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as Foggy led Matt away to get ready, too, the two of them already laughing at some private joke.

Everyone knew that Foggy was a big factor in Matt’s success. Weary of the spotlight himself, Foggy had quit acting and instead dedicated his fame to opening doors for his talented friend. Doors that otherwise would have slammed in the face of a blind man. It wasn’t fair, but aspiring actors were expected to mold themselves to fit the industry’s needs for them, not the other way around. Matt was entitled to accommodations, and as his manager, Foggy fought by Matt’s side to make damn sure that he got them. When it came to leveling the playing field, Foggy came equipped with power tools.

Their devotion to each other was one of those things that cut right through the cynicism of the business with a hot, bright warmth. Watching them laugh and banter, it was easy to believe that the world really was as wonderful as all the happy endings that Hollywood sold.

Karen tried to focus on that as Matt settled into the director's chair next to her for their interview. Foggy had definitely fibbed about how much time she had to get ready, which she resented because she was generally the most punctual person on set. Karen Page showed up on time, she knew her lines, she hit her marks. She hadn’t started taking any of it for granted, and she hoped she never would. But if she’d known she had the extra minutes to kill, she would have made a pitstop in hair and makeup instead of doing her best on her own.

Luckily, her bitterness didn’t last long.

“Can I interest anyone in a touch-up?”

Karen’s frown turned upside down as Claire, the show’s head makeup artist, loped into view, weighted down by her trusty black bag. As far as Karen knew, she never went anywhere without it.

“Bless you,” Karen said.

“Bless me while you’re at it,” Foggy said. “Who do you think asked Claire to stop by?”

So that’s why he had told Karen to hurry. She shouldn’t have doubted Foggy.

Karen sat as still as possible while Claire freshened her face and slicked a subtle berry gloss on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, as Claire turned her attention to Matt.

“Hey, handsome,” she said, and a spark of annoyance pulled between Karen’s shoulder blades. Claire was an angel, but apparently even angels couldn’t resist flirting with Matt. The tips of his ears turned pink as Claire got to work, offering the usual slightly-more-than-friendly chitchat. Matt’s smile went wide, and Karen had to stop herself from getting glowery.

It helped when Wilson came striding toward them, resplendent in a gorgeously tailored suit as always. He was walking with someone who could only be Ben Urich. Wilson was nodding at something Urich had said when his eye caught Karen’s.

“Ben,” he said in his booming voice, “let me introduce you to my dear friend Karen Page, the very best scene partner I’ve worked with in all my years of acting.”

Karen jumped out of her chair to extend her hand, knowing her face was flaming. To have Wilson Fisk of all people make that kind of introduction was astonishing.

“That’s high praise, Ms. Page,” Ben said. His handshake was firm.

“Karen, please. And Wilson is exaggerating, of course.”

“I am doing nothing of the kind,” Wilson countered, his eyebrows knitting together. “I had no idea when I agreed to play the role of Mayor King on _Hell’s Kitchen_ that I would be enjoying myself quite this much. And at my age, it’s a treat to be surprised.”

“Watch who you’re calling old,” Ben said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. He peered over Karen’s shoulder. “And this must be Mr. Murdock?”

“Oh, yes,” Karen spluttered as she turned around to look at Matt, who was standing from his director’s chair as well.

Wilson swooped in, graceful despite his bulk. “Yes, Mr. Murdock is a stunning talent as well,” he said, putting his hand on Matt’s back. “ _Hell’s Kitchen_ truly has a cast made in heaven.”

“Sounds like it,” Ben said, taking the hand that Matt had outstretched. Matt was smiling but tense, and Karen thought he almost flinched at Wilson’s friendly touch. She must be imagining things.

Unless… was he angry that Wilson had been more effusive about her? That didn’t sound like Matt. He had always been unfailingly generous about sharing the spotlight. And with Paige as the mayor’s right-hand woman, Karen had worked with Wilson much more than Matt had. Maybe Matt was just being method? They were antagonists on the show, after all.

But Karen didn’t have time to dwell on it. Wilson was excusing himself, and they were settling down for the interview. Foggy whispered something in Matt’s ear that made him nod and then Foggy melted away.

“Well, you’re about to witness an old dog attempting a new trick,” Ben said resignedly. “Are we ready, Archie?”

A woman with a neon red undercut gave him a thumb’s up, then made another slight adjustment to the iPhone she’d set up on a tripod. While Ben’s interview with Wilson would turn into a _Beau Monde_ cover story a few months down the road, this more casual Q&A was set to go out within a day or two on Nondé Cast’s social media feeds.

Ben didn’t seem thrilled about it, but Karen knew that she had lucked out at being part of the storied journalist’s first Instagram interview. It was bound to make a splash. As Ben flipped through his notes, she put her hand on Matt’s arm to ground herself and took a deep breath. He brushed the thumb of his other hand ever so lightly over her knuckles, and then they disentagled themselves as the interview began.

Ben was well-prepared and even more charming than Karen expected as they eased through the standard opening questions. By the time they got to talking about Mike and Paige’s affair, she felt like she was chatting with an old friend, though she knew she shouldn’t forget that what Ben wanted was a good story.

“With this new relationship between your characters, the showrunners appear to be dirtying Mike up a bit,” he said to Matt. “What do you think of that?”

“Oh, I’m ready to get filthy,” Matt said, a saucy smirk spreading below his glasses. A scandalized laugh bubbled out of Karen’s chest and she leaned toward him, giving him a little smack on the shoulder. He laughed too, then shifted forward in his chair. “No, seriously, it’s boring to play the good guy all the time. Sometimes you want to be rough around the edges. And honestly, we got that in the first season, too, with the way Mike was hiding some troubling things about his past. So I think this new development is a logical extension of that.”

“A love affair is a little more sexy than a dark past,” Ben said.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt.” Matt’s smirk was back, albeit at a lower wattage.

“Do you think Mike and Paige will make it? Either of you?”

Matt waited for Karen to field the question first. For an actor, he was nothing close to an attention hog. Or maybe he really did like her voice.

Karen made an expression that she hoped was suitably enigmatic. “I think it’s really too soon to say. You’ll have to tune in.”

“And you, Matt?” Ben prompted.

“Well, obviously, I have no idea. We don’t have any more information than the viewers do at this point. But I hope so. Maybe it’s just the romantic in me, but I have a feeling they can help each other more than they know.”

* * *

“You guys were great!” Foggy was beaming as he shepherded them away from Ben and his colleague.

Karen ran her hand through her hair, trying to dissipate her nervous excitement. The butterflies in her stomach hadn’t gotten the memo yet that the interview was over.

“I should get a move on. I’ve got a meeting with Joe about some upcoming location shoots,” Foggy said.

“Do you need me for that?” Matt asked.

“No,” Foggy said, with more emphasis than necessary, “we’re not to that point yet, buddy. You and Karen should celebrate. Ben’s vid is gonna get all the likes on Insta.” He patted Matt on the back and rushed away, aiming a quick wink at Karen over his shoulder.

Karen licked her lips as she looked at Matt, who still bore the traces of his on-camera grin.

“I don’t know about you, but I think we deserve a cookie,” he said. “And if my nose is right, we’re not too far from craft services. Should we go check if Mrs. Cardenas has any of those chocolate salty oat ones?”

Karen tilted her head with interest. “Do I sense a weakness, Mr. Murdock?”

“Don’t tell,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.

“You’re trusting me with dirt on you?” She smiled. “You like to live dangerously.”

“You can’t keep a secret?” His eyebrows lifted.

“I didn’t say that.” Karen giggled and tugged on his arm. “C’mon.”

But they only moved a few steps before Ben’s colleague — Archie? — called Karen’s name.

“Ms. Page? Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Uh, sure.” Karen squeezed Matt’s hand before pulling her arm away. “I’ll be right back.”

Archie’s eyes were darting around as Karen closed the distance separating them. Karen couldn’t tell if she was nervous or just trying not to miss any possible star sightings.

“Ben wanted me to give you this,” Archie said softly. She quickly passed Karen a business card that had a phone number scrawled in pen on the back. “That’s his personal cell. Call tomorrow morning. Not too early. He says it’s important.”

And then she left in a flash of neon red hair, leaving Karen staring after her in amazement.


	2. Chapter 2

"And Foggy was so excited, but he didn't know where I was. So he's running around campus, half-drunk, yelling, 'Murdock, I’ve got a job for you!' By the time he found me, he had a whole entourage — all these people who recognized him and wanted to know what was going on. So that's how all of Columbia learned I had booked my first paid acting gig." Matt laughed at the memory as he broke off another piece of his chocolate salty oat cookie.

Karen was starting to regret turning down Mrs. Cardenas' offer of a cookie from the special stash she set aside for Matt. But even without tasting the chocolatey goodness, Karen was charmed by Matt's weakness for them. She'd also been charmed by hearing Matt talk to the craft services manager in Spanish — with greater fluency than her high-school-level efforts allowed. Matt Murdock was full of surprises.

"So where were you? Where did Foggy find you?" Karen asked.

"Oh," Matt said, ducking his head. "I was…"

Karen's expression turned knowing. "You were with a girl, weren't you?"

His grin was sheepish. "It's not important."

Karen shook her head, feeling that champagne dizziness fizzing through her. The tiny café table in Matt’s dressing room only had room for two chairs, and their knees kept brushing together. "How did you first meet Foggy, anyway? I don't think I've ever heard that story."

"He saw me in a play," Matt said, adjusting his glasses. "I took a drama class for an arts requirement my freshman year. We got extra credit if we tried out for a production, so I thought, what the hell? I never expected I'd get cast, let alone that Foggy would be in the audience on opening night. But he'd gotten tired of Hollywood and wanted to try college life."

"How long did that last?"

"We both made it through graduation, though just barely. It was really important to my dad that I finish. He had high hopes for me. Wanted me to be a lawyer."

"Well, at least you play one on TV?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, he's made his peace with it, I think. He loves the show."

"He has good taste," Karen teased.

"And I haven't even told you yet that Paige is his favorite character."

Karen tried to hold in her grin. "I'm not sure I believe that."

"It's true. What’s really unbelievable is that you won't try some of this cookie."

Her willpower had been flagging all through their conversation, and this last test was too much. Especially when combined with that coaxing smile of his. "Fine," she said. "Just one bite."

She expected Matt to hand her the piece he broke off, but instead he raised it to her mouth himself. He was pretty on target, too — probably from tracking the sound of her voice. She leaned the last bit forward and took the bite. His fingertips grazed her lips in the process, sending little bolts of lightning all the way down to her toes.

Karen was struck by how different it was. On set, they spent plenty of time making out, often practically naked, but even the most innocent moment of real intimacy felt infinitely stronger.

"What do you think?" Matt asked softly, and she closed her eyes to savor his voice as much as the lingering flavor of the cookie.

"Perfect," she said finally. "Your dad's not the only one with good taste."

The space between them almost shimmered with electricity. Karen’s heart stuttered as Matt wet his lips. And then he cleared his throat awkwardly, and she turned away.

"Uh...getting discovered by Foggy Nelson is a pretty great story," she said, grasping for something to smooth over the tension. "For me, it was just some guy in the mall who was scouting for models for the L.L. Bean catalog."

She'd almost told that guy to fuck off, in fact, but in the end, she'd taken his card and looked him up online. When he turned out to be legit, Karen jumped at the job, mostly because they needed the money. The diner had been foundering since her mom had gotten sick, and they were all still in the first fog of grief from her loss. Catalog modeling wasn't the most scintillating job in the world, but it sure beat slinging eggs at the diner and arguing with her dad about the books.

"So you started off as a model?"

"Yeah," Karen said. "I never had the look for runways, but I booked lots of other jobs, and then I started going for commercials. Once I had my first speaking part, that was it. I was hooked on acting. I loved telling someone else's story. Even if that story was just, ‘Life tastes good. Drink Coca-Cola.’ "

Matt laughed. "It's all honest work."

"So I moved here from my hometown in Vermont and started auditioning constantly.”

When she looked back on it, Karen still shivered to think what might have happened if she hadn’t gotten out of Fagan Corners. Her life had been going nowhere fast. She didn’t feel like she had the right to abandon her dad and Kevin for college — for something expensive, a long-term investment. But moving to New York was different. She still had to do plenty of waitressing and bartending, but she booked enough modeling and acting jobs to send money home. She still did, every month.

Kevin had gone to a very good college. She was proud as hell of her little brother.

“Obviously, you made the right choice,” Matt said meaningfully, and the whole room coiled tight again. Karen sucked her lower lip into her mouth, scraping her teeth over it. His hand was so close to her hand. It would be so easy to reach out and—

“Hey, Matt! Ready to—” Foggy cut himself off as he poked his head through Matt’s open dressing room door. “Oh, sorry.” Karen thought she caught a smile before his face disappeared again. “Um, we have that dinner thing…” he called from outside.

“Right, right,” Matt said, standing up and brushing his hand over his pants. “Sorry, Karen, I need to—”

“Of course. I should be going, too.” She got to her feet. “Thanks for the cookie.”

“Remember,” Matt said, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, “if my weakness for chocolate salty oat shows up in the tabloids, I’ll know it was you.”

“Hmm,” Karen said thoughtfully, matching his volume, “I wonder how much celebrity cookie addiction gossip sells for these days.”

He made a mock-offended sound. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” she said sincerely, and now she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch him, just a subtle brush of his arm, “I wouldn’t.”

* * *

The studio was fairly quiet as Karen headed out into another smudgy city night. The fact that _Hell’s Kitchen_ was actually shot in Hell’s Kitchen was a favorite factoid for the press. The production company had pounced during the panicked buy-off after the Incident, and now it was sitting pretty when it came to location.

Despite her rising profile, Karen still liked to walk the streets of Manhattan — she wasn’t recognized often, and people tended not to make a fuss even when she was. But she wondered how much longer that would be the case. Ben’s interview was—

“It’s unacceptable,” a voice boomed out as she walked past the alley behind the studio. Karen slowed her pace. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was—

“I will not stand for any further delays,” Wilson said. “Lights _out_ , Wesley.”

The hard, hollow finality of Wilson’s tone cut right through her.

“Yes, sir.” Wesley’s voice was less certain. Karen had never warmed to Wilson’s weasley-faced assistant. He was the kind of guy who made Karen feel exposed — not in a lascivious way, just in an uncomfortable one.

Footsteps began to echo down the alley and Karen quickened her own pace, darting down a side street as soon as she could. She’d never heard anything like that from Wilson before. He was usually warm and generous — a sweetheart.

Except… there had been one other incident. Last week, she’d heard him use a brutally angry tone with someone in his dressing room. Maybe Wesley then, too. Wilson had been raging about some kind of accounting mistake.

But he was all smiles when he arrived on set for their scene together, and Karen figured it was just a serious problem that Wilson had been rightfully upset about, to the point where he lost his cool entirely. She hadn’t thought anything more of it, until now.

Now that she had Ben Urich’s card sizzling away in her purse, out of sight.

She wasn’t quite ready to admit it to herself, but she had a sneaking suspicion she might know what he wanted to talk about.

* * *

But before she could find out for sure, Karen had another ordeal to get through.

The first appointment on her calendar the next morning was a meeting with her agent. Karen dressed carefully before taking a cab to a gleaming tower in Midtown and riding the 26 flights up to L&Z Talent Agency. She didn’t have to wait — she was immediately whisked into a luxuriously appointed office, with black leather furnishings and trendy pops of color.

Her agent strode in just moments later, looking perfect as always, from her salon blowout to her designer pumps.

Marci didn’t mince words. She didn’t even glance up from her phone. “What the hell is this, Karen?”

Karen waited in confusion until Marci shoved the phone toward her. It was _Beau Monde_ ’s Instagram feed. The interview with Matt had just gone live, and it was already racking up tons of views. Marci had paused the video at a particularly choice moment, allowing Karen to fully appreciate the expression of gobsmacked adoration on her face as she looked at Matt.

“Please tell me you were playing that up for the likes,” Marci begged. “Please tell me you are not going to make the goddamned rookie mistake of falling for your co-star on the very first big job you get.”

Karen made an indignant noise, but Marci wasn’t listening.

“Dating a co-star is messy. Breaking up with a co-star is even messier. What happens if he breaks your heart? Are you still going to be able to make kissy faces with him in Season 3, if that’s what the script calls for? You’ve got to think with your brain here, Karen, not your naughty bits.”

Karen frowned. Marci was smart. Marci made excellent deals. Marci had a reputation in the business for being a “defroster” — she specialized in helping women land juicy roles that wouldn’t get them fridged for the manpain. Karen had done everything she could to get Marci to take her on as a client. She respected Marci’s opinion.

But there was such a thing as _boundaries_.

Karen met Marci’s gaze levelly. “You don’t have to be concerned about this.”

Marci smiled with an exaggerated brightness and nodded. “So you’ll keep it in your pants?”

Karen lifted her chin. “What I’m saying is, no matter what happens, I will be professional on set.”

Marci blew out a breath, her smile collapsing. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for. I have seen that ass, after all. And you’re only human.”

Karen raised an eyebrow in response.

“Fine. On to actual business. Let’s look at your schedule and figure out how to get you to the West Coast the next time you have a few days off. I’ve got a couple of studios starting to bite. They want to meet you. If everything goes well, maybe we could squeeze in a feature during the hiatus.”

Karen nodded rapidly. She’d had parts in small-budget films, but she could tell from Marci’s expression that this would be the big time.

“OK,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm despite the twenty-piece mariachi band playing in her heart. “That sounds doable.”

“You’ve been doing your homework?”

“Yes, I’ve been working with my coach. And Foggy’s been coaching me informally too, when he has downtime. His suggestions are fantastic.”

The corners of Marci’s mouth turned up in a slow, spreading way that reminded Karen a little of the Grinch. “How _is_ Foggy Bear?”

“He’s...good?” Karen said tentatively, feeling like she was giving away the precise coordinates of a delicious fish to a ravenous shark. She’d forgotten that Foggy and Marci had some kind of history, the exact nature of which was better left unknown.

“Maybe I’m overdue to visit you on set,” Marci said.

“Oh, um—”

“Sorry, Karen, no time for chitchat. My next client is a real nightmare.”

Marci’s assistant, Mae, materialized next to her and ushered Karen from the office. Karen thought she saw a fleeting flash of a white-haired woman — _Betty White?_ — but her entourage mostly blocked her from view.

Karen worked with Mae to figure out the optimal time to schedule her LA trip, and then asked if there was an empty office or conference room she could use. Karen didn’t have time to go home before heading to the studio, and this was something she definitely couldn’t do there.

It was time to call Ben Urich.

* * *

Karen stared down at Ben’s business card on the table in front of her, unable to stop fidgeting as her mind ran wild with speculation. But maybe this was nothing. She was probably overthinking it.

She didn’t even have to call him. She could toss the card in the trash in this wasted corporate space and forget all about it.

But the truth was, she was dying to know.

She flipped the card over slowly, letting it make that distinctive paper-swish sound against the polished black surface of the table and then against her finger before she let go with a snap. Ben’s private number was written in blue pen on the back. She picked up her phone and dialed.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Karen pulled the phone away from her ear and was about to hang up when Ben’s voice came through, faraway and tinny. “Urich here.”

“Uh, hello,” she said, jerking the phone back up. “It’s, um, Karen Page.”

Ben chuckled. “Good morning, Karen. The social media folks tell me we’re a hit.”

The knots in her stomach pulled. “Oh,” she said, a touch of nervous laughter gilding her breath.

“But you know that’s not what I want to talk about.”

“I don’t know what you want to talk about,” Karen said firmly.

“Well, you know I’m working on a profile of Wilson Fisk.”

“Yes.” Karen tapped her fingers on the table soundlessly. Her perfect manicure still caught her by surprise sometimes. She didn’t care about her nails, but certain things were just expected of her now.

“I’ve been speaking with some of Wilson’s colleagues and friends, trying to get a fuller picture of him. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

“Depends on the questions.”

Ben sighed. “I’ll level with you. I’d like to be discreet about this. I’d like to keep this conversation just between the two of us for now.”

“Off the record?”

“Let’s say I’ll only print something if I can confirm it from multiple sources.”

“OK.” Karen’s brow creased.

“You know that acting is basically a hobby for Wilson at this point, right?”

“He certainly doesn’t have anything to prove.”

“I mean, he mostly makes his money by backing Broadway shows,” Ben said. “He believes in the theater. Especially the theater in New York City.”

That was true. Wilson talked about his passion for the theater often. She loved that about him. He’d even gotten Karen tickets to a few of the most-talked-about shows.

“Yes,” she said uncertainly.

“A few years ago, Wilson bankrolled an experimental show about that wall-crawler downtown that flopped. Massive losses. He’s been trying to make up for it ever since. The rumors are that he’s gotten vicious with his competition.”

“Vicious? Wilson Fisk?” Karen laughed incredulously. “He’s a teddy bear.”

But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she remembered the ugly anger of a week ago, the hard set to his voice last night. Still, that wasn’t much to go on. She didn’t expect him to be a saint.

Papers rustled on Ben’s end of the line. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about this yet,” he said, “but there was a … disturbance on Broadway last night. A man was discovered tampering with the rigging at the Bernard Theatre. It could have been a disaster. He was apprehended outside by a man in a black mask. No one knows who he is — whether he’s part of the production or another of these vigilante types. The police are trying to bring him in for questioning. But the saboteur refuses to say what he was doing, or if he was working on someone’s behalf.”

“Let’s just stop there, Mr. Urich.”

“Ben.”

“OK, _Ben_. You’re telling me that you think Wilson Fisk is responsible for trying to sabotage a show?”

“I’m just floating a possibility. I looked at who stands to benefit the most from problems with the production of _Where There’s Smoke,_ and it’s undeniable that it would be very good for Wilson’s current show, _The Short of It_.”

“Wilson is my friend,” Karen said coldly, though her brain was ringing. _Lights out_.

“And if he didn’t have anything to do with this,” Ben said, “then I won’t breathe a word of it. But you’re close to him. You can keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Why me?”

“He’s nervous about you,” Ben said. “Why else do you think he’s praising you to the skies?”

The implication punched Karen in the gut. “Maybe he means it.”

“You’re a very talented actor, Karen. But Wilson’s moves are always calculated. I’ve been around long enough to know that. You shouldn’t forget it, either.”


	3. Chapter 3

Karen frowned at her reflection as she waited for Claire. Louisa had already set the ends of Karen’s hair in curlers. She looked like exactly what she was — a TV star getting prepped for what promised to be a long day of filming — and not a sneaky mole. Or a rat. Or whatever you called people who agreed to dig for dirt on their friends.

She rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt, going over her lines in her head, trying to forget about Wilson and think about Paige.

Her heart swelled when Matt plopped down in the chair next to her, but it lasted only a moment before she gasped. A sullen purple bruise flared high on his cheekbone, near his temple, with a thin red slash beneath it.

Before she could catch her breath enough to speak, Claire had swooped in, her hands grasping Matt’s shoulders. She positioned him so she could get a better view of his injury.

“What happened to you? Are you OK?”

“Does it look bad?” Matt seemed nonchalant, bringing his fingers up to touch the bruise tentatively. “It’s hard for me to tell.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Claire asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Matt, what happened?” Karen asked again.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” he said, with a smile that fell almost before it registered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m fine.”

Karen studied his face in the mirror. A tightness around his mouth seemed to belie his words. His features were somehow just as guarded as if he had been wearing his glasses. This was new, this wall between them. It was like ice — transparent but cold — and she didn’t know what to make of it.

Claire was already working to cover up the damage. Karen took in the gentle movements of Claire’s fingers over Matt’s skin, her soothing words, and watched as the bruise and cut gradually disappeared completely.

By the time Claire was done, Karen thought she could actually feel Matt’s shoulders relax.

“You better not let this happen again,” Claire said teasingly. “I don’t get paid enough for the extra work.”

Matt smiled at that, a real smile, and Karen was so grateful for the crack in the ice that she couldn’t even be jealous. She met Claire’s eyes as she turned away from Matt, and Karen saw her own concern and confusion reflected there. Something was definitely up with Matt, and they both knew it.

* * *

“Are we still planning to do this scene the way we talked about yesterday?” Matt asked as they left hair and makeup and headed for the set. He seemed to be rallying back to his usual self, but Karen could still feel a chill that wasn’t there before.

“Sure,” she said wearily. From the high of Marci to the freefall of Ben to the sharp twist of Matt, the day had already been an emotional roller coaster, and it was still only morning.

“Karen?”

The sound of her name made her realize that she had missed something else that Matt said and she snapped back to attention. “What?”

“You, uh, seem distracted,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I guess… I’m a little worried about you.” There were so many things on her mind, but Matt had quickly taken the top spot.

He stopped, and his hand on her arm pulled her to a halt, too. “I told you I’m fine.”

She sighed as emotion bubbled into her throat. “All right. But… take care of yourself, OK?” She turned and raised her hand to cup his cheek, his stubble prickling into her palm, his warmth piercing her through.

He nodded slightly, letting out a breath that was somewhere between chastened and amused.

Maybe this thing with Wilson was making her paranoid.

She let her hand fall away, and they kept walking.

* * *

It was a relief to get back to work, to let any lingering tension burn away under the lights as they threw themselves back into their roles. Matt and Karen had to trust each other now. Mike and Paige were the ones with issues.

The scene they were shooting was a big one — testing Paige’s newfound ties to Team Good as well as her feelings for Mike. Karen couldn’t ignore the synchronicity of her character making a move toward turning on Mayor King on the same day of her discussion with Ben. So she used it, channeling all her mixed-up feelings into Paige.

“You can’t do this, Mike. If he finds out…” Karen let her voice fade ominously.

“There’s no other way.”

“There is,” she countered softly.

“What do you mean?”

Karen stretched out the pause and watched as desperation dawned over his face. Matt-as-Mike took a step closer to her, scrabbled for her hand. “No,” he whispered. “Paige, I won’t let you do it.”

“You said it yourself. There’s no other way.” She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I’ll be OK.”

“Cut!”

Karen flinched at the sound of the director’s voice. She had gotten so into the scene, she had forgotten the rest of the world.

“Can we get Claire over here?” Blake, the director, yelled. “Matt’s hand is reading really red on camera.”

Karen blinked away the tears blurring her vision and peered at Matt’s hand, which she was still holding.

His knuckles _were_ red.

Bruised knuckles, a bruised face. If she didn’t know better, Karen would think Matt had just discovered Fight Club.

But no.

Matt wasn’t _fighting_. That didn’t make any sense.

Did it?

* * *

In the late afternoon, it was Wilson’s turn to join Karen on set. They were filming another scene that took place earlier in the same day — a short one that was mostly exposition. Karen was glad. Her emotional energy was definitely flagging after so many takes of almost-crying, and they’d be able to knock this one out quickly.

“Wesley showed me your interview with Ben Urich,” Wilson said as they waited through a technical delay. “You were very charming. I expect to see more offers coming your way.”

Karen returned his smile, but she worried it came off more like a wince. “My agent is sending me to LA for meetings soon.”

Wilson nodded sagely. “Hollywood can be a dangerous place. Too many young people lose themselves there. You mustn’t let them change you too much.”

Karen wondered if he was speaking from experience, but she was saved from figuring out how to respond by a summons to take their places.

Shooting the scene was as by-the-book as Karen expected, and they had it in the can in just a few takes. Wilson extended his arm to her as they headed back to their dressing rooms, and she didn’t see any choice but to take it. _Innocent until proven guilty_ , she reminded herself, but she still felt like something of a snake.

A snake that was about to poke the teddy bear.

“I’ve been thinking of taking in another Broadway show soon,” she said. “Maybe _Where There’s Smoke_?”

Wilson’s shoulders hunched, and he grunted lightly in displeasure. “Sadly, that would be a waste of your valuable time. The director is trampling all over the playwright’s artistic vision. I’ve never been more disappointed in a production.” His distress seemed genuine.

“That’s too bad,” Karen said.

“It’s always a shame to see talent so abused. It makes me sick.”

Karen pressed her lips together, wondering if it would be too obvious to bring up the tampering at the theater. She was warring with herself when Foggy came toward them, headed in the other direction.

He nodded at them both. “Hey, Karen? Need you in Matt’s dressing room in 20 minutes, ’kay? It’s kind of a big deal.”

He moved on without waiting for a response. Karen pulled her arm from Wilson’s and shrugged. “Guess I should go get changed.”

“Good night, Karen. Don’t get into trouble.”

“Same to you,” she replied, with a saccharine smile.

* * *

Karen knocked on Matt’s door with a mixture of anticipation and gratitude. She was happy Foggy had given her an excuse to check on Matt without seeming like she was checking on Matt.

“Hi,” she said, when Matt opened the door.

“Karen.” The expression on his face said he wasn’t sure why she was there. “Is everything OK?”

“Foggy asked me to come by,” she said.

“Oh.” Matt opened the door wider. Foggy was sitting on the couch, calmly sipping a bottle of water.

“You said it was important?” Karen said.

“Very important.” Foggy capped his water and put it down with a flourish. “Matt, we’ve been friends with Karen for a while now, and it’s obvious that things are only getting more serious. And I think it’s time.”

Matt’s eyebrows lifted above his glasses. “Time for what?”

“Time to introduce Karen Page to a real Hell’s Kitchen institution.” Foggy grinned like the Cheshire cat. “It’s time to take Karen to Josie’s.”

Matt laughed. “I don’t know if that’s very fair to Karen.”

“What’s Josie’s?” Karen asked, amusement tugging at her lips as she looked back and forth between them.

“One of those places where everyone knows your name, but no one cares who you are,” Foggy said wistfully. “A place where the drinks are cheap, but the conversation is … also cheap. Maybe a little tawdry. I think you’ll despise it.”

“It’s the dive bar where Foggy and I officially decided to go into business together, years ago now,” Matt said. “He insisted I buy the beer, and it was the only place I knew I could afford.”

“Once we got in the habit, we just kept going back. Now they miss us if we stay away too long.”

“Josie tried to kick you out the last time we were there,” Matt reminded him.

“That was a misunderstanding. Josie loves me.”

“OK, fine,” Karen said. “I guess I need to experience this place for myself.”

“Is your arm feeling OK now that we’ve twisted it?” Foggy asked. “Seriously, are you in, or do you already have plans?”

She definitely didn’t have anything planned that sounded more fun than hanging out with Matt and Foggy — she tended to be a homebody, especially during intense periods of shooting. The day had left her drained, but she already felt a zip of renewed energy sparking through her.

And even Marci couldn’t disapprove. Foggy would be there as chaperone, after all.

“Let’s go,” she said, and Foggy cheered.

* * *

Karen couldn’t remember the last time she was inside a place with sticky floors.

Hardly anyone looked up as the three of them made their way to the bar, and the few who did showed zero noticeable reaction. Josie’s was full of music, and the clack and roll of the pool balls, and the clinking of drinks, but somehow it still seemed subdued.

Foggy grabbed three glasses from behind the bar as they sat down, ignoring the annoyed stare of a woman wearing a motorcycle t-shirt under a flannel with the sleeves cut off. She took a bottle off the shelf behind her and plopped it down in front of Foggy with a snort.

“Decided to show your face here again, huh.”

“Josie,” Foggy said fondly to Karen, putting to rest any lingering questions about the woman’s identity, “is always so welcoming.”

Josie looked into Karen’s eyes. “Don’t let him leave you with the check.” She jerked her chin in Matt’s direction. “He’s done it to this one a million times.”

“Josie, why would I need to skip out on my bill?” Foggy asked. “I’ve been working since I was eight.”

“And you’ve been overrated since you were nine.”

“Isn’t she charming?” Foggy said to Karen as Josie stalked away triumphantly.

“Oh, could I get a glass of water, pl—?” Karen started to call after the bartender, but Matt and Foggy cut her off quickly.

“You can’t drink that,” Matt said.

“Sorry, Karen, it’s rotgut or nothing,” Foggy said, pouring a little amber liquid into the glass he’d put in front of her. “The water here will literally rot your gut, and I speak from regrettable experience.”

“Noted,” Karen said. She looked around at the neon lights and the tacky signs, at the people on neighboring stools drinking their beers like it was their mission in life.

She already kind of loved it.

“So what do you think, Karen?” Matt asked, as if he was reading her mind. “Do you regret ever meeting us?”

She bobbed her chin. “A little bit,” she teased, laughing.

Matt bowed his head over his drink in faux dejection, and she reached over to pat his leg. She was about to say something flip, but he caught her hand with his own and held it there, and her ability to speak was completely compromised. It was impossible to form words when her hand was bracketed by the soft wool of his pants and the warm strength of his palm.

Karen couldn’t help glancing quickly at Foggy to see if he was watching, but luckily he was scrolling on his phone. She felt exactly like an old-timey teenager getting away with something under the nose of her chaperone, and her heartbeat quickened accordingly.

Sharing cookies and holding hands — this couldn’t be more different from her illicit onscreen affair with Mike, and Karen felt giddy. But then she looked down and remembered Matt’s red knuckles. She remembered her call with Ben.

In the space of one day, they’d both started keeping secrets. She hoped they both knew what they were doing.

Karen heard Foggy set his phone back down on the bar, and she pulled her hand away from Matt’s reluctantly. For a moment, it had been so easy to believe that everything could be simple.

* * *

After their first drink, they took their bottle and their glasses and moved to a table, where it was slightly easier to carry on a conversation, not least because Foggy wasn’t stopping every five minutes to trade good-natured barbs with the woman behind the bar.

“So I’m outside this girl’s dorm, wearing a toga,” Foggy said.

“I don’t remember a toga being part of the story,” Karen interrupted, looking over at Matt’s amused expression.

“I went to some terrible frat party, I’m sure,” Foggy continued. “Anyway, there’s this whole group of us, all wearing the chicest Roman apparel that extra long twin sheets could provide, and yelling for Matt to—”

Foggy cut himself off as an older man approached them. Karen’s initial thought was that they finally had their first autograph-seeker of the night, but Foggy’s face lit up too much to be greeting a stranger. In contrast, Matt’s posture went rigid, and his hands clenched into fists under the table.

“Jack! Hi!” Foggy said.

“Dad?” Matt smiled, and Karen’s stomach dropped. She was going to meet Matt’s _father_? She caught herself nervously combing her fingers through her hair and forced her hands into her lap instead.

“How did you know we were here?” Matt asked. His tone was welcoming, even if his body language wasn’t.

“I saw it on Josie’s Twitter,” Jack answered.

“What?”

“I’m kidding. I asked your manager here for your schedule tonight.”

Jack and Foggy exchanged a very quick look — and it dawned on Karen for the first time that Foggy was also a little worried about Matt. Did that mean that she was now part of Foggy’s cheer-up-Matt roster?

The thought made her smile. But then she wondered if Foggy knew what had happened to give Matt those injuries. Matt’s face had been mostly scrubbed clean of the traces of the day’s filming, but his bruise was still artfully covered by Claire’s makeup. It looked like Claire might have redone the job more subtly as a favor. Matt was clearly trying to avoid questions — no doubt because he didn’t seem to have any answers he was willing to share.

“Sit down, sit down,” Foggy urged, and Jack pulled out the remaining chair while Foggy headed over to the bar.

“Dad, this is Karen,” Matt said. “She’s on the show with—”

“I’m a huge fan of yours, Ms. Page,” Jack said, reaching his hand out to her.

Karen shook it. His hand was rough, but his touch was gentle. She met his twinkling eyes and realized that his face looked a little like Matt’s would if he’d broken his nose a few times.

“Thank you” was all she could manage to say. She’d never felt less prepared for an important audition. And she really didn’t want to blow it.

“They must not pay actors what I thought they did if you guys are hanging out here,” Jack said with a smile. “Josie doesn’t even serve wings.”

Karen wrinkled her nose at the very idea. “I think that might be for the best.”

“You’re probably right,” Jack said, accepting the beer that Foggy handed to him. “Did you get to do anything fun today?”

“I rehearsed a stunt,” Matt said. “Just a simple one where I jump away from a car that’s trying to hit me. Karen had it rough, though. She had to cry.”

“Crying isn’t _that_ hard. It is tiring, though.”

“I always struggle to cry on cue. Foggy’s like you. He can turn it on at the drop of a hat.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Matt,” Foggy sniffled, actual tears sneaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Karen clapped lightly. “Impressive.” Then she turned to Jack. “How about you? Fun day?”

“Nah, just the usual blood, sweat and tears,” Jack said, taking a sip of his beer.

“My dad runs a boxing gym called Fogwell’s,” Matt explained. “It was abandoned for a long time, but we decided to buy it and reopen it.”

“I was a boxer up until I was about Matty’s age. Then I had to stop after an injury. But it’s great to be back.”

“Sounds like you really missed it,” Karen said.

“I’ve always loved the fights.” Jack fidgeted with his bottle on the table. “I’ve always liked working with my hands. But my boy, he’s always been a thinker. And now he’s an artist, just like you guys.”

Despite Jack’s obvious pride, Matt moved his hands restlessly over his thighs below the table. He hadn’t taken a drink since his dad arrived — his knuckles stayed hidden.

“Don’t let Jack fool you,” Foggy said to Karen. “He wasn’t always so cool about it. I had to work my socks off to convince him that acting was the right move for Matt.”

“It’s a pretty risky business,” Jack said.

“Not when you’re working with Franklin P. Nelson,” Foggy objected.

“I didn’t know that then,” Jack laughed. “But you were right. I’ve read the letters Matty gets from people who can’t believe there’s someone like them on TV — it’s pretty special.”

“It is special,” Matt said, “but enough about me.”

“I’m just getting started,” Jack said. “I think I have a few baby pictures in my wallet that Karen—”

“No,” Matt protested and the whole table became a jumble of laughter and all of them talking over each other. Karen grinned and scooted her chair just the tiniest bit closer to Matt’s, so their arms were touching.

She was starting to like Josie’s Bar a whole hell of a lot.

* * *

Jack only stayed for one beer. Karen got the distinct impression that Foggy had summoned him just to make sure Matt was OK. And Jack must’ve been satisfied by what he found, even if Karen wasn’t. But then, she’d seen a very different — not to mention mysteriously bruised — Matt earlier in the day.

Jack ruffled Matt’s hair after he stood to go. “Keep doing your old man proud, kid.” Then he turned to Karen. “And you? Don’t break his heart.”

Karen’s eyes widened and Matt let out a puff of air.

“I mean on the show, of course,” Jack said with a wink. He extended his hand for Karen to shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“I enjoyed it so much,” Karen said. “Thank you.”

As Jack made his way to Josie’s door, Foggy scraped his chair back and stood up. “You know what? I’m, uh, I’m gonna make sure he gets home OK.”

 _Smooth_ , Karen thought sarcastically, but she didn’t make a peep of protest. _So long, chaperone._

Matt took a long swig of his drink, which had gone untouched while Jack was around. Karen swallowed a gulp of her own to fortify herself for what she was about to say, now that they were alone again.

“Matt, I’m just going to put this out there,” she began. “I know something’s up. I saw your face and I saw your knuckles. And you haven’t even come up with a good explanation.”

Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. But when, or if, you ever feel like you can tell me what’s going on with you, I promise that I’m here.” She slid her hand under his. “Is that a deal?”

He threaded their fingers together. “That is a deal.”

“Good.”

They sat for a while in silence, letting the jukebox and the chatter around them substitute for conversation. Then Karen shyly told him about Marci’s plans for her out in LA, and Matt enthusiastically accepted the change of topic.

* * *

Karen wanted the evening to last forever, but eventually Matt said he had to go. He summoned his car service, and they waited together in night air that was swollen with the threat of rain.

“I could drop you off,” Matt said, like he was eager to squeeze in a few more minutes together. She was tempted, but well, she wasn’t exactly planning on going home.

“It’s not a problem,” she said, noticing a familiar light down the block. “In fact, there’s a cab right now.” She lifted her arm to hail it.

“Then I guess it’s goodnight, Miss Page.”

Karen swallowed, her heart rising into her throat. “Good night, Mr. Murdock.”

Matt reached his hand up to cup her face, and her eyes fell closed. She trembled as he stroked his thumb lingeringly over her cheek.

“You could, you know,” he murmured.

She drew in a shivery breath. “I could what?”

“Break my heart.”

And then he drew her closer and he kissed her, and everything else around her blurred away. She knew these lips, but it was a different shock of pleasure, knowing that it was really him kissing really her. No Paige and Mike, just Matt and Karen. She leaned into it, into the slide of his lips and the sweet surprise of his tongue, and she was just about ready to forget her other plans for the evening when a loud honk startled them apart.

They laughed, and he took her elbow, and she guided him over to his cranky driver’s black car. “See you tomorrow,” she said and he smiled.

And as her cab drove through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, the lights smearing in the night, Karen knew that this was so much more than a crush.

Marci was going to be so pissed.


	4. Chapter 4

Karen didn’t know exactly what she was looking for when the taxi dropped her off on West 45th — a drive so short the cabbie gave her the kind of patronizing look that was normally reserved for tourists. Some of the Broadway shows at nearby theaters had already finished, spilling their audiences out toward the restaurants and hotels around Times Square, or toward the bridges and tunnels of home.

_Where There’s Smoke_ still seemed to be in progress, with no sign of any disturbances. Wilson — or whoever was behind this — probably wouldn’t strike twice in the same place. Too risky. But even though Karen wasn’t the criminal, she couldn’t help but be drawn to the scene of the attempted crime.

She wondered if the theater’s self-appointed savior was also lurking somewhere in the night. The bit of news coverage that she read hadn’t offered much of a description of the masked man, and Karen wished someone had snagged a photograph as she scanned the street.

But chances were slim she’d find him — or anything useful — amid the dazzling lights and buzzing patrons. So Karen slipped around the theater instead, into an alley that led toward the next block, her mind seeking hungrily for something to justify her decision to forgo her very comfortable bed and skulk around instead.

She wasn’t Ben. She had no real business here, except maybe in playing the role of his girl Friday to the hilt. But some irresistible impulse shoved her forward anyway.

The only sign of life in the secluded area behind the Bernard Theatre was a man leaning against the wall near the back door. He was dressed in dark clothing and smoking a cigarette in a broad pool of yellow light.

The guy wasn’t wearing a black mask, but he’d have to do. Karen wasn’t going home without talking to _someone_.

When she caught his eye, the man’s face changed. “Hey, I know you,” he said. “You’re on TV.”

Karen chuckled softly. “Yeah, I’m on TV. But we all know theater is better.” She stepped closer as he took another drag — he’d given her a natural opening to slip a few questions in. “It’s been a little strange around here, huh? Were you here last night when all that shit went down?”

He nodded as he blew out his lungful of smoke. “Uh-huh. Messing with the lighting like that could’ve got someone really hurt.”

Karen crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t understand why someone would do it.”

“That’s easy. Jealousy.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned in, batting her eyelashes subtly.

“The police haven’t said who it was, but I thought I recognized the guy. Used to work here on Broadway. I think he was a stagehand on that Spider-Man musical that crashed and burned.”

Karen tried not to sound as eager as she was. “Really?”

“I don’t think he could get work after. One of the accidents they had in rehearsals was partly his fault.”

Now here was a lead that Ben could really work with. The connection to that show didn’t feel like a coincidence — an embittered former employee with the expertise to do Wilson’s dirty work?

“Do you remember his name?” she asked casually.

“Nah, just his face.” The man dropped his cigarette to the ground and scrubbed it out with his shoe. “You know, you’re even prettier in person. Think I could get a picture with you?”

Karen’s heart thumped hard — that sounded like a bad idea, but then again, he already knew who she was.

“Um, sure,” she said and smiled politely as he put his face close to hers and snapped the photo with his phone.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’d think after all this time working with actors, I wouldn’t be impressed, but…” He shrugged.

“Have a good night,” Karen said with a half-hearted wave, moving back into the alley. She needed to get home so she could call Ben without worrying about being overheard, or being recognized again. She walked swiftly, unease crawling like a spider up her neck. She resisted the urge to start running — _You’re just being paranoid_ — but she cast frequent glances over her shoulders, just in case.

So of course she smacked right into someone in front of her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling shaken and silly, but her throat closed up when she realized that she knew the man who’d gotten in her way.

Wesley caught her arm. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

She immediately tried to shake off his grip, but he held firm. “Taking in a show, of course,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I make everything my business, Miss Page. Now tell me what you’re _really_ doing here.”

“You first.” Anger flared through her.

“What?”

“You tell me what you’re doing here first.”

Wesley smiled thinly. “Checking on the production, naturally,” he said. “Broadway is Mr. Fisk’s heart and soul. He is...concerned.”

“I’ll bet,” Karen said bitterly.

“Well?” Wesley said in his oily voice. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I think I already said enough.”

Wesley’s fingers pinched harder into her arm. “You think you know something? You think you are somebody? You’re just another blonde actress. Generic. Replaceable. Wilson Fisk is an institution.”

Karen scowled. “Are you done talking yet?”

“Far from it.”

“Well, I’m done listening.” Karen feigned trying to pull away and when his grip shifted, she used the opportunity to slam her elbow back into his gut.

She took off down the alley, running as fast as she could, trying to get to the next street so she could hail a taxi and disappear. Ringing footsteps dogged her, flooding her with panic, but when they finally overtook her, she realized it wasn’t Wesley who was on her heels.

It was the masked man.

He was half-covered in shadow and all dressed in black. Only the bottom portion of his face and his neck were bare — she saw the glitter of stubble across his cheek and the hint of curving red lips that gasped out, “Ka—are you OK?”

And she knew him. Didn’t she? Something about the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, made her stomach twist with familiarity. “Who are you?”

“Go to the street and get a cab. I’ll...keep you safe.” His voice was low, and rough, but another echo of recognition tickled her brain.

“You can do that?”

He smiled and let the shadows swallow him whole, just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

* * *

Karen sighed as she stood in front of the mirror in the hair and makeup department the next morning. Claire was going to have her work cut out for her. Karen looked as drained as she felt.

She’d had plenty of time to beat herself up during her nearly sleepless night. She’d let fear and anger get the best of her, and she hadn’t even tried to use her acting skills to convince Wesley that nothing was going on. She didn’t know if he’d overheard her conversation with the man at the Bernard, but she’d played right into whatever suspicion he had of her.

If he told Wilson, she could be fired. Or worse.

She desperately hoped that Ben would take the lead she’d given him and get a story out soon.

Despite her gloom, Karen still smiled when Matt walked in, his cane moving ahead of him. The sensations of the night before — the feeling of his lips on hers, the magic of his touch — came rushing back, and she felt the knot of dread inside her ease.

“Hi,” she said, the word coming out barely above a whisper.

“Morning,” he said. “Are you OK?”

“Of course,” Karen answered, trying to shove everything else — Wilson and Ben, the man in black, Matt’s secret — out of her head. “Uh, how was your night? Did you just go home?”

Matt’s expression tightened. “Yeah, I, um, I went right to sleep. How about you?”

“Oh, the same. I was exhausted.”

She knew she didn’t sound convincing, but she couldn’t keep her focus when he was moving closer to her — close enough that she could feel his warmth, that she could relish the solid comfort of his presence. “Sorry to keep you out so long,” he murmured.

She smiled. “It was worth it.”

“Yeah?” He gave her that flirty smirk that made her knees feel a little wobbly.

“Yeah,” she sighed, tilting her chin and letting her eyes flutter closed as he leaned in to press his mouth to hers.

Part of her wondered if this was a distraction — if she was trying to distract him, or maybe even he was trying to distract _her_ — but it didn’t matter because it felt like actual sunshine was beaming through her body as he clutched her tight against him. Just like the night before, her awareness of anything but him faded away.

Which was why she didn’t notice that Claire had arrived until she cleared her throat loudly. “I guess I don’t have to ask if this is true,” she said wryly.

They broke their kiss abruptly. Karen couldn’t help but feel a frisson of irritation at being interrupted _again_ , even though they were on Claire’s turf, but then she grasped what Claire was referring to. She was holding up her phone, which featured a photo of the two of them kissing outside Josie’s the night before, under a screaming headline:

“ **BLIND PASSION** : Kissing Co-Stars Heat Up Hell’s Kitchen!”

“No,” Karen gasped.

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“Someone took a picture of us last night and it’s on a gossip site,” Karen explained in a rush, running her hand through her hair. She was surprised Marci hadn’t—

As if on cue, her phone started ringing. _Marci Stahl_. Karen silenced it without answering.

“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy,” Matt’s phone announced.

“I should...” Matt said, walking toward the door as he answered.

Karen wanted to stop him, to figure out how they were going to respond, what it meant for them, but Claire touched her arm. “We better get moving if you’re going to make it to the set on time.”

Karen held her eyes for a long beat, as it sunk in that Claire was right. The one thing Karen had promised Marci was that she would be professional, no matter what happened. Karen sat down in one of the chairs with a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. Of course this had only gotten more complicated.

“I know it’s tough, but try not to let it get to you,” Claire said sympathetically. “Believe me, there are worse ways to get publicity than making out with Matt Murdock.”

* * *

Karen’s nerves weren’t any better by the time she made it to the set. She felt reasonably confident that she and Matt would be on solid ground again once they could talk, but she was filming a scene with Wilson today, and with him, everything was quicksand.

She watched for him furtively as she read through her lines to refresh her memory.

“Miss Page.” Wesley materialized at her side, smiling obsequiously. She wanted to punch him in the mouth. “You ran off so quickly last night, I didn’t get to ask you how you enjoyed the show.”

“I didn’t.”

“Ah. Yes. Many have said the same about that particular production. Sorry you wasted your time.”

Karen choked back the response that bristled into her mouth. Wilson was approaching, and she forced her face to remain neutral.

“That was quite the charming photograph of you in NYC Buzz, by the way,” Wesley said quietly, rubbing salt in the wound before his boss got close enough to hear. “You certainly got around last night.”

Karen clenched her hands into fists but managed not to actually use them. Not with witnesses around.

“Good morning, Karen,” Wilson greeted her mournfully. She smiled briefly in acknowledgement, then chewed on the inside of her lip, waiting for his next words. “I’ve been looking forward to shooting this one.”

The relief that coursed through her cooled the anger Wesley had provoked. Wilson seemed unhappy, but she had been bracing herself for much worse. Maybe his toady had kept their unexpected encounter to himself after all.

Karen straightened her spine and turned her attention to Blake, the director, who had joined them to discuss the ideas he had for the scene they were working on. Like Wilson, Karen was excited for this one, or she would have been, if everything hadn’t gone completely batshit in the last 24 hours. After several episodes of buildup, Paige was finally taking action to stop one of Mayor King’s schemes, right under his nose — a betrayal that Karen expected would hang over her for the rest of the season.

If there _was_ a rest of the season. Karen had been trying not to think about it, but there was no escaping it on set. If Ben was able to tie Wilson to the shady happenings on Broadway, that could have devastating effects on _Hell’s Kitchen_. At best, they might have to find a new Mayor King. At worst, they could cancel the show entirely. She might be putting herself and Matt and dozens of other people out of a job.

“This is a sad state of affairs, Karen,” Wilson said, interrupting her thoughts. She jumped. Blake had turned to confer with the camera operators, and they had a few minutes before they began shooting.

“Oh?” she managed.

“I’ve gotten word through various associates that Mr. Urich has decided to turn his profile of me into a witch hunt,” Wilson continued. “I am thoroughly displeased with his conduct and in the degradation of what was once a great publication. Has he spoken to you?”

“We had that interview,” she hedged.

Wilson seemed almost not to hear her. “Why can’t he see that I am only trying to preserve the vital jewel of this city? What would New York be without the theater?”

Karen’s jaw clenched. “If you haven’t done anything wrong, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” she said innocently. “Is there any basis for his story?”

“Any basis, Karen?” Wilson’s face was turning red. “Any _basis_?”

“Uh, Wilson, Karen, we’re ready for you,” Blake called across what had become a dead-silent set.

Wilson gave her a strained smile, Karen faked one in return, and they took their places.

It wasn’t going to be hard to sell the tension in this scene.

* * *

Karen practically raced off set when Blake was satisfied with the day’s footage. She wanted to avoid getting cornered by Wilson, and more than anything else, she wanted to find Matt and sound him out about their surprise tabloid debut.

Unfortunately, there was a blonde-haired barrier blocking the way to Matt’s dressing room. Marci stood in the hallway, her arms crossed over her body, one designer pump tapping away impatiently. Karen’s stomach sank. She had hoped to have a chance to get on the same page with Matt before the Spanish Inquisition.

But when Marci looked up and spotted Karen, the annoyed expression on her face vanished and a brilliant smile took its place.

“That picture was _amazing_ ,” Marci gushed. “Even my icy cold heart melted a little. Did you hire someone to take it or—”

“I thought you would be upset,” Karen said, too shocked to even process what Marci was saying.

“That was before I knew you wanted to go public with this. I can work with that. You should see the comments. People are eating this up.” Marci’s brow creased. “Though you have to keep in mind that everyone loves Matt. He’s got that whole wounded, handsome duck thing working for him. You can’t break his heart or they’ll turn against you. No matter what actually happens, he has to break it off with you first.”

“Wait, back way the hell up here,” Karen said, annoyed that Marci was already planning her breakup with the boyfriend she didn’t actually have yet. “I didn’t want to go public in the first place, and I definitely don’t want to go _more_ public. Can’t we just tell everyone ‘no comment’? Can someone float a rumor that we were filming at the time?”

“We were just talking about that,” Foggy said, popping his head out of Matt’s door and waving them inside. “No one’s going to buy it. But just letting the pic speak for itself for now is not a bad plan.”

Karen was grateful to see Matt inside the room, and even more grateful when he moved toward her at the sound of her quiet hello. Maybe it would be more professional to keep their distance during this discussion, but she gravitated to him anyway. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they presented a united front, even if they hadn’t had time to officially unite on anything.

Foggy was still talking. “I don’t think you’re high profile enough to have the paparazzi all up in your chili, but it would still be safer to start using a car service instead of walking around alone, Karen. Where’s your manager, by the way?”

Karen shrugged.

“You need a new one,” Marci piped up. “McClintock is an ass. Fire him and we’ll get someone new. Maybe Foggy can take you on temporarily.” Marci looked at Foggy like a juicy piece of meat. “I’m _sure_ the two of us could work something out.”

Foggy turned slightly red under Marci’s lingering gaze, and he played up being engrossed in his phone when it dinged. “Another interview request,” he said after a minute. “You sure you guys don’t want to go on E! and talk about this?”

“We don’t even—I mean it _just_ happened—and—” Karen spluttered to a stop, her words tripping over themselves. Matt’s hand rested briefly, reassuringly, on the small of her back, and she took a shaky breath.

“We’ll have to do a round of publicity for the show soon anyway,” Matt said smoothly. “Let’s not invite the madness.”

“All right, that settles that,” Foggy said.

“Are you OK, Karen?” Marci asked, not unkindly, though her eyes were sharp.

“I’m fine.” Karen flicked her hair over her shoulder, trying to shrug the whole thing off.

“Give her a break, Marce. She had a late night.” Foggy winked, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Not that late,” Karen said with a touch of exasperation.

“Oh, c’mon,” Foggy said. “I stopped by Matt’s on my way home last night. It was _definitely_ late and he was very much not there. I know, because I was having a bit of an emergency and I used my key so I could visit the little Foggys room.”

“That explains a lot,” Matt said.

Marci made a face and then laughed. “You don’t have to be so secretive, Karen. Everyone knows now.”

“I wasn’t—” Karen cut herself off in agitation, shaking her head.

Marci raised her eyebrows. “Anyway, this will be good for the show,” she said hurriedly. “Lots of buzz means ratings. Foggy Bear, I think we should go strategize.” She gave him a significant look.

“Yes, strategery is always important,” Foggy said, glancing from Karen to Matt with confusion before Marci hustled him out of the room.

Karen was reeling. Matt hadn’t been home late at night, and Foggy didn’t know where he was, which ruled out a lot of possible explanations. Matt was bruised. Matt had been fighting. He had stubbled cheeks and curving red lips.

But it was impossible.

The door clicked closed behind Foggy and Marci, cracking across the quiet like a shot. Once they were alone, Karen had expected to talk to Matt about whether they were labeling it, and if they would be kissing again, and if so, could it be very soon, but right now, their secrets loomed too large to navigate around. There was no choice left for her but to confront them head-on.

“You lied about going straight home,” she said. She wasn’t accusing, just stating facts.

Matt licked his lips. “Karen—”

“No, it’s OK,” she interrupted, heading off what she expected would be another nondenial denial. “I lied, too. I didn’t go home either. Do you know where I went, Matt?”

Matt’s discomfort was obvious, but he didn’t speak. For a moment, Karen felt daunted, but then she remembered the way Matt had flinched at Wilson’s friendly touch not long ago, and she pressed on with more confidence.

“I went to Broadway,” she confessed. “I...I’ve been trying to help Ben Urich investigate Wilson. Ben thinks he’s trying to sabotage other shows to benefit his own. And if you know _anything_ that could help, I need you to tell me. Now. Because Wilson and Wesley are already suspicious of me, and I have no idea how far they’re willing to go.”

Matt just stood there, his face partially shielded by his glasses. Karen was sure there was something he wasn’t telling her. But she couldn’t force him to speak. She sighed and turned, heading for the door, a fiery disappointment slashing through her.

Her fingers had just touched the doorknob when Matt said, “Wait.”

She turned back around, her heart beating wildly.

“You’re right. I can help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone sticking with me for this! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Karen stood in front of Matt, her fingernails digging into her palms as she braced for whatever it was she was going to hear. As the seconds ticked by, a screaming swell of impatience rose inside her, but she reined it in, just barely. She had told Matt that when he was ready to talk to her, she would listen.

She unclenched her hands and smoothed them over her skirt — she was still wearing her outfit from the day’s filming — and she waited. And she waited.

At last, Matt leaned his hands onto the table in front of him, a last breath escaping him slowly. “I know Wilson is behind the sabotage at the Bernard. I heard him talking about it with Wesley that night.”

_Lights out_. Karen’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but Matt did.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

“Because I was with Foggy, waiting for a car in front of the studio. Wilson and Wesley were in the alley out back.”

He let the words hang in the air. Karen’s shoulders hunched. “You wouldn’t be able to hear them unless they were screaming,” she said. “And probably not even then.”

“They weren’t screaming.”

“Then how…?”

Matt ignored the question. “I thought about calling the cops. An anonymous tip. That’s what I would usually do. But it sounded ridiculous. Someone was going to tamper with a Broadway show? I figured I'd have a hell of a time convincing them I wasn’t a crank, and even then it might take a while for a busy officer to get around to checking it out.”

Karen’s lip trembled as she listened without fully understanding. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm away the prickle of goosebumps that rose in response to the tenor of his voice.

“I made an excuse to Foggy, and I went back inside. Melvin was still working in wardrobe. So I gave him a stupid story about a costume party. I asked him for something all black. And a mask.”

Matt walked across the room and opened a zippered gym bag. “He gave me this.”

Matt pulled out a piece of black fabric that had been tied into a head covering — just like the one Karen had seen on the man in the alley the night before. He put his glasses on the table and slipped it over his head. Karen’s mouth fell open as all her doubts vanished, even if her confusion persisted.

Matt _was_ the man in the mask.

She shook her head. “You stopped him. You did it. But how? How can you do any of this?”

Again, the seconds ticked by and she had to wait, screaming on the inside and silent without. Matt pulled the fabric off his head smoothly, but he revealed himself haltingly, in half-sentences and stumbles. The accident that had blinded him as a child — the one he talked about obliquely in interviews — had enhanced his other senses to a degree that was almost unfathomable. He could hear and taste and smell and feel things that other people would never notice, at distances that seemed impossible. And the combination of those things allowed him to sense the world around him. He could move swiftly and silently through the city at night. And he could fight.

“I convinced my dad to buy the boxing gym with me so I’d have a place to train alone,” Matt said. “He was so happy to be back there. And I always told myself that what I was doing was for my job. To keep in shape. But...I wanted to be ready.” He rubbed his face wearily. “It’s been...building...in me. Everything I hear at night. The screams and the cries. And the way they...stop.”

Karen was sitting on the couch now, without any memory of getting there. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them back. She knew intellectually that people with superhuman abilities existed, but to work beside Matt for months, with no idea… There were too many questions swimming around in her mind, so she picked the first one she could grab onto. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of this?”

Matt sat down in one of the chairs at the table. He put his head in his hands briefly before lifting it back up again. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“What?” Karen gasped.

“I did try, when I was a little kid, to tell my dad. But he didn’t really understand, and I hated all the doctors and the hospital, so I just...stopped talking about it. I pretended to be as normal as possible.” His mouth quirked. “I guess it’s not surprising that I ended up becoming an actor. I’ve been pretending all my life.”

“Jesus,” Karen exhaled softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have a good life.”

“I don’t mean…” She understood he didn’t want her pity, but she didn’t know how to explain the way her heart was aching for that bewildered boy and the man who felt he had to hide. “Thank you,” she said instead. “For trusting me with this.”

He gave her a painful little smile and bobbed his head once. “I figured if you could keep the cookie thing a secret…”

Karen breathed out a stunned laugh.

Matt wet his lips. “The truth is, I need your help.”

Everything about him seemed to change in an instant. He sat up taller, and his face settled into more determined lines. “We need more than my word to make a case against Wilson,” he continued. “It’s meaningless.”

Karen tried to put the brakes on her racing thoughts and focus. “We need something we can take to Ben.”

“Wilson has a safe in his dressing room where he keeps his expensive watches and things while he’s on set. But I’ve also heard rustling. Like documents. I can get in—”

“You can?” Karen stood up in a rush of excitement.

“I can hear the clicks of the combination,” Matt explained, and Karen worked to make her brain absorb such a wild notion. “But I can’t do it on my own. I wouldn’t know right away if the contents were helpful. I don’t want to risk everything and end up with old scripts and his fourth-grade report card.”

A thrill of heat crept up Karen’s neck. “Are you asking me to go safe-cracking with you?”

“If it’s too risky—”

“I’m in.”

* * *

It was easy to get into Wilson’s dressing room. Karen provided a distraction — in the form of a little harmless flirting with a member of the custodial staff — while Matt filched the key. No one would ever suspect him.

By the time Karen slipped through the door and closed it silently behind her, Matt was already working on the combination to the safe, which was built into the wall and was usually covered by a large mirror. She bubbled over with questions as she watched Matt work — _You can really_ hear _that? Is anyone coming? Have you done this before?_ — but she bit her tongue. She shouldn’t make any more noise than necessary.

Her nervousness increased exponentially with every turn and twist of the dial, until finally Matt gave her a brisk nod and used his gloved hand to pull the safe open with a satisfied swing. Karen immediately pounced. She was already clutching a little penlight from her purse and she aimed it inside.

Nothing.

It was empty.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “He cleared it out.”

“What?” Matt’s face was stricken. “No.”

“We should get—”

But Matt brushed her aside and slid his hand over the inside surface of the safe. “There’s something off…” he murmured. He formed a fist and knocked, making a hollow sound. Then, to Karen’s astonishment, he pulled out the false back of the safe to reveal…

“Another one,” Karen breathed.

Matt actually chuckled, and then started to work on the second combination.

“Showoff,” Karen whisper-teased, but then made herself shut up again.

This time, when the lock opened and the door swung free, Matt reached into the tiny space and pulled out a single flash drive. Karen roamed her light around to make sure there was nothing else concealed there, but came up empty.

Matt hesitated. “Should we…?”

“We’re taking it,” Karen hissed decidedly. It might be their only chance. And no one had a double safe for their fourth-grade report card.

Matt started to close up, but Karen stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait,” she said. She dug around in her purse and pulled out something small and black. She wiped it down carefully and then stuck it into the safe where the flash drive had been.

They took care to return everything to its original state, and then they crept toward the door.

Which swung open and smacked into the rubber doorstop, letting in a dim swath of light from the hallway. Light that framed the shape of one of the studio security guards.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his eyes pinned on Karen. Matt was already behind him, pressed against the wall next to the door.

“I was just...borrowing a script that I lost,” Karen said with a reassuring smile.

“Does Mr. Fisk know you’re _borrowing_ his things?”

Karen nodded enthusiastically but the guard looked at her dubiously. He reached for the two-way radio on his belt. “Maybe I should just call—”

Matt sliced through the air like a living shadow, delivering exactly one well-placed blow. The guy never had a chance.

Karen watched his chest rise and fall to confirm he was still breathing, and then she stepped around his prone form without a backward glance. Matt closed the door behind her, locking the unconscious guard inside.

Karen walked purposefully but without hurrying to the back exit of the studio, Matt holding on to her arm in the way she was used to. Just two co-stars, leaving after a long day.

Outside, the heavy night air felt fresh with freedom, and Karen hailed the very first cab she saw. Once she’d given the cabbie _Beau Monde_ ’s address, she collapsed against the back of the seat, tilting her head up toward the roof as she tried to get her breathing to return to normal. High-stakes espionage was just a touch more nerve-wracking when it wasn’t scripted.

As the blocks crawled by outside the window, Matt leaned across the seat, resting his head next to hers.

“What was it? That you put inside?” he asked in her ear, clearly burning to know the answer.

Karen couldn’t help but smile. “Another flash drive,” she said as quietly as she could, knowing after everything she’d just witnessed, he would have no trouble hearing her. “It looks almost the same, but instead of secrets, it has a billion blurry photos of my brother’s study abroad trip to Spain. I love him, but photography is not his strong suit. Literally nothing is identifiable.”

Matt laughed softly. But even though his curiosity had been satisfied, he didn’t pull away. He stayed like that, his head nestled close to hers, just breathing in the same air, and Karen closed her eyes to soak in the solace until they pulled up outside the Nondé Cast building in Times Square, and the world rushed in again.

* * *

Archie was waiting for them in the lobby, her neon red hair shining like a beacon above what Karen’s time in the modeling game allowed her to recognize as shoulders-to-shoes Chanel. After beeping through security checkpoints and zooming up the elevators, they made it to Ben’s plush office on the 40th floor. The rest of the workspaces were dark and quiet, but his was lit with golden lamplight.

He didn’t mince words when he saw them. “What do you got for me?”

Karen held up the flash drive. “Just Wilson Fisk’s secrets.”

Ben’s eyebrows went up. “And this is your doing, Mr. Murdock?”

Matt frowned. “I’m only here to talk about renewing my subscription,” he dead-panned, gripping his cane.

“Right. So the two of you just _happened_ to get a hold of this,” Ben said. He took the flash drive from Karen and slid it into a port in his computer. “Let’s hope the IT guys don’t kill me.”

Ben clicked to open the drive, and of course, he got nothing. “Encrypted.”

Karen bit her lip, her heart falling into her stomach. They were so close. “Do you know someone who can crack that kind of thing?”

Ben smiled mysteriously. “Archie?” he called.

“Yeah, boss?” Archie stuck her head in the door.

“Think you could hack a flash drive for me?”

“Piece of cake,” Archie said, moving to take over Ben’s place at his desk.

“I told you I was an old dog,” Ben said ruefully. “When it was time to hire an assistant, this time I decided to focus on tech skills. Archie used to run a hacker club for girls out of her parents’ triplex in Soho. But her dream in life is to be a writer for _Beau Monde_. So she agreed to come work for me after college.”

Archie smiled though she didn’t look up from her work. Ben took Matt and Karen to the end of the hall for a recycled paper cup of coffee while they waited. He filled them in on the investigation he’d done into John Healy, the man who had been arrested outside the Bernard, thanks to the man in the mask.

“Your cigarette buddy was right,” Ben said to Karen. “Union records show Healy worked as a stagehand. But the information about the Spider-Man show is incomplete, and his name didn’t show up in any of the news coverage. No one who worked on the production wants to talk to me, though I have a couple of names on my list yet to try.”

“What about his lawyer?” Matt asked.

Ben shook his head. “Public defender. I haven’t been able to get through. Healy should be out on bail soon, though, if he isn’t already.”

Karen briefly wondered if the man in the mask was thinking about tracking Healy down again, but the thought left her when she looked up to see Archie in the doorway.

“That was tougher than I expected,” she said, though not much time had passed since they left her in the office. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

They crowded around Ben’s computer as Archie clicked through the files. The first few were photos of an older man “in, uh, kind of compromising positions,” as Karen delicately explained to Matt.

“I know him,” Ben said, and Karen looked at him sharply. “He’s the chief fire inspector for the neighborhood. He closed down two performances at the last minute in the last three months. Huge headache for the theaters — all the tickets had to be refunded. And I think now we know why.”

“Wilson was blackmailing him,” Karen said grimly.

Archie quickly clicked through a list of documents. Many appeared to be related to the finances of Wilson’s shows, including his big failure.

Ben let out a low whistle. “Well, folks, I appreciate your help here. I think we’re about to blow this story wide open. But now I need you to clear out and let me and Archie get to work.”

* * *

Karen and Matt made their way back down to the street, leaving Ben and Archie behind in their fortress of glass and steel.

This time, Karen let two cabs pass before she finally hailed one. Now that they’d confirmed they had the goods on Wilson, she was feeling even more paranoid. And she wasn’t the only one.

“You can’t go home,” Matt said. “Not after the way Wesley was acting last night. They might come after you again. And if that security guard talks...”

They climbed into the backseat of the waiting cab and Matt gave the driver an address. “My place,” he said, answering Karen’s question without her having to ask it. They didn’t talk during the drive — Karen was too distracted by her rapid cycling between giddy excitement over what they’d accomplished and utter dread of it all going wrong.

When they reached Matt’s building, she almost couldn’t contain her surprise. It was a six-story walkup with no doorman. Definitely not where you would expect a successful actor to live.

Inside, it took her breath away for a different reason. It was a gorgeous loft, with minimalist furnishings and stained glass windows. And, most shockingly of all, it was flooded with purple-pink light from a gigantic billboard just outside.

“Holy shit,” Karen murmured as she looked at it through the window.

“Sorry,” Matt said. “It doesn’t bother me, of course, but I know it’s distracting. I found this place when I was just starting out, and the billboard got me a great deal. And then I guess I just got attached.”

Warmth tingled through her at his endearing half-smile.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, slipping into host mode.

“Do you have some clothes I could borrow, maybe?” she asked tentatively. “I kind of forgot to change.”

Melvin would be mad at her for wearing her wardrobe off the set — he’d kill her if she slept in it.

“Of course,” Matt said. “Let me get you something.” He disappeared through the open sliding door that led to the bedroom. “Are you hungry?” he called. “The Thai place on the corner is still open.”

“I don’t think I could eat,” Karen said truthfully. She doubted she’d be able to sleep much, either.

Matt handed her a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants — both made of infinitely soft cotton. She instantly longed to be wrapped up in them.

“OK to use the little Foggys room?” she asked, and Matt’s laughter rang through the open space like a bell. The sound thrilled Karen to her fingertips.

“It’s all yours,” he said. “The door on the right.”

Once she was dressed, she found herself stalling, washing her hands and idly straightening the toothpaste and razor and comb on Matt’s counter. Now that the adrenaline of stealing from Wilson was fading, she was thinking about everything Matt had told her about himself. What he must know about her, if he could crack a safe by sound alone. Every time her stomach growled, every time her breath caught, every time her heart pounded around him, he knew. She comforted herself with the thought of how conscientious he had always been on set — even though he must’ve understood very well that she didn’t mind where he put his hands during their love scenes.

It was so much to take in.

“I made up the bed for you,” Matt said when she emerged shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“OK,” she said. “I guess I should… I mean, you probably want to sleep.”

“Not really,” he said, sitting down on the leather couch. She perched on the other end, curling her legs up underneath her. He’d taken his glasses off and loosened his collar. She liked him like this, more open to her like he was on set, when they stripped down to the bare minimum and curled around each other, trusting and safe. But pretending.

Matt was always pretending, even when the cameras were off. But now he didn’t have to pretend with her.

“Do you think you’ll ever wear it again?” she murmured. “The mask?”

Matt sighed. “I’ve been wondering about that, too. I can’t say that I don’t want to, now that I’ve started.”

“It's pretty dangerous.”

“So is breaking into Wilson Fisk’s safe and delivering its contents to a reporter,” he said archly.

Karen smiled. “You’ve got me there.” It had already crossed her mind, once or twice, that it would be hard to go back to her old sheltered life after this, now that she’d been exposed to the greed and corruption around her.

“It just… it felt like what I was meant to be doing. Stopping people from getting hurt.” Matt shook his head. “But my dad, Foggy, they could never find out. Foggy would think I’m throwing my career away. He's done so much for me, and I would be jeopardizing that if I got injured or if anyone found out. And my dad, he never wanted me to fight. It was hard enough for him to accept me being an actor, let alone a…”

“Hero?”

“A guy who solves problems with his fists.”

“Maybe that’s what’s needed, sometimes,” Karen said, surprising herself. It wasn’t that she’d ever opposed the Avengers or Spider-Man or any of the costumed vigilantes who roamed New York, but she’d never thought of herself actually being friends — or more than friends — with any of them. She didn’t want Matt to get hurt. But she also couldn’t picture herself sitting on the sidelines when she had the power to help. If she had overheard Wilson’s plans and knew she could stop them, she might have asked Melvin for a ninja costume, too.

“It’s pretty amazing, you know,” she said. “What you can do.”

Matt gave her a wobbly smile. “I thought you would be freaked out, if I ever told you.”

“You thought about it?” She moved closer to him, scooting over the couch cushions.

“All the time,” he said.

Karen’s heart sang, but she tamped it down. “I am a little freaked out,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “But I’m glad you told me. Especially since the whole world thinks we’re dating.”

“I like the way the world thinks,” Matt said thickly, and his impossible gravity pulled her in until her lips touched his. It was a kiss full of promise — of relief — of something like hope. His hand sought her face, sliding over her cheek before curving lightly around her neck. She stretched her palm wide over his chest, feeling for his heartbeat now that she knew he could hear the way hers raced for him. A flicker of fire licked all the way through her as she curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself as she fell deeper into the spell of him.

They were alone. No cameras, no paparazzi, no interruptions. The possibilities were…

But Karen’s head was crowded, and her heart was spilling over, and all the secrets revealed and risks taken were making her dizzy. She pulled away, gasping for breath.

Matt’s face was full of the same half-haze, his eyelids heavy and his mouth glistening. After a long, stunned moment, he reached up and lightly brushed her hair back from her face.

“You should go to bed,” Matt said. He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Try to rest. I’ll listen for any trouble.”

Part of her rebelled, wanting to stay close, to melt right into his heat, his comfort, and forget everything else. But she knew it as well as he did — they weren’t ready for more. It was all too much, too fast.

“Goodnight, Matt,” she whispered, with a pang of affectionate regret.

“Goodnight, Karen,” he echoed.

She leaned against him for balance as she got to her feet. And then she padded to the bedroom, where she nestled in cool sheets, alone, closing her eyes against the flickering light, and hoping her dreams of the future could ward off the fears of the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just always thought they deserved a safe-cracking date! :D


	6. Chapter 6

The night passed like a fever dream — inescapable and vivid, a jagged mix of pent-up longing that made Karen roll fitfully and of echoing anxiety that curled her into a ball. But still, only minutes seemed to have passed when Matt’s voice tugged her out of her shallow sleep.

She heard the sound and knew they were late without even processing the words. Matt didn’t have so much as an extra toothbrush, so Karen did the best she could in the bathroom and hurried back into her clothes. She’d do a better job getting ready in her dressing room.

“You didn’t sleep well,” Matt said with concern.

Karen laughed ruefully. It wasn’t a question. A sighted person might know from the pale cast of her skin or the hint of dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t so strange for him to know... however he knew. Her breathing? The tossing and turning?

“You didn’t sleep at all,” she said. She had no way to know for sure, but she felt confident in her assessment.

A twitch of his mouth confirmed it. “Car’s waiting downstairs,” he said, and they swept down the steps and into its buttery leather confines.

Karen's eyes were still bleary when, settled and seatbelted, she finally looked at her phone. But the sight that greeted her was better than coffee for jolting her awake. Ben’s story had gone up on the _Beau Monde_ website about an hour earlier.

A photo of Wilson looking stern sat amid screaming text calling him the “Crime Boss of Broadway” and “Mayor Kingpin.”

“Ben did it,” she said to Matt, her voice coming out half as loud as she expected. “It’s all out there.”

Matt rubbed his hand over his stubble. They both smiled, but the uncertainty descended quickly.

What the hell was next?

* * *

Karen should have realized the press would be all over this. As they neared the studio, she could see a scrum of reporters, photographers and videographers lying in wait.

“Could we go to the back entrance?” she asked the driver.

“Sorry, miss, it’s blocked off today,” he answered.

Karen swallowed. The only way out was through. “It’s a bit of a mob scene,” she said to Matt, though she suspected he already knew. “We’ll just have to stick close together, OK?”

“We’ll be fine,” he said.

The moment she opened the door, the shouting began. “Karen! Karen! Over here! Did you know Wilson Fisk was a crook?”

Matt gripped her elbow, and Karen tried to keep her head down and power forward, but it wasn’t easy to navigate the crush of people, especially with microphones being shoved in her face and flashes popping all around them. The studio wasn’t sending anyone out to help — she could only guess that everyone inside was busy putting out fires of their own.

“Matt! Are you staying on the show? Is _Hell's Kitchen_ getting canceled?”

Karen took a few more stunted steps and almost groaned aloud in frustration. They were never getting inside at this rate. Matt squeezed her arm a couple of times in a way that she knew was meant to be encouraging. She was half-tempted to tell him to start swinging his cane around to make some room when she heard a low voice on his other side.

“Morning, pal.”

Karen turned her head sharply as Foggy appeared like a guardian angel, his shaggy blond hair glowing in the sunlight.

The crowd recognized him, of course. “Foggy! Hey, Foggy! Have they fired Wilson Fisk?”

Foggy shook his head. “Guys, we don't know anything more than you do,” he said loudly. “You know these decisions are up to the producers.”

Undaunted, another reporter called out: “Karen! Is it true you and Matt are dating?”

Karen repressed an eye roll at the absurdity of it all — any story would do, whether it was the exposure of an actual criminal or just celebrity dating gossip. But the three of them were moving much faster now, picking up momentum as they approached the door. Karen realized with a start that Marci was on her other side, clearing a way for her through the crush.

“Karen! What about that kiss?” came another shout.

“No comment!” Marci yelled with gusto, turning to Karen with a smirk. Marci always came through in a pinch.

At last, the door ahead of them swung open, and their group of four was finally surrounded by studio security personnel, who ushered them inside.

Compared to the hubbub on the street, the studio was eerily calm — the sets were silent and the hallways were hushed, with scattered groups of cast and crew members exchanging urgent whispers and serious looks.

They found Melvin and Claire talking quietly together outside of Matt’s dressing room. “You’ve seen the story?” Melvin asked grimly. “I can’t believe it.”

“Is Wilson here?” Karen asked, her stomach roiling as she peered down the hallway toward his closed door.

“He was,” Claire said. “He had an early call time. But Joe personally came to get him from wardrobe and they’ve been closed up in an office with some suits from the studio ever since.” She bit her lip. “Do you think it’s all true?”

“His rep denied it in the story,” Foggy said, “but the evidence was about as glaring as that white suit he’s so fond of.”

“I heard they might recast him,” whispered Louisa, the hairstylist, as she joined them.

“You know, they originally tried to get Liev Schreiber for the role,” Foggy said, and then the conversation turned to actors who might reasonably be able to take over Wilson’s part.

Karen listened uncomfortably, worried about all of their jobs, knowing she was partially responsible for putting them in jeopardy. None of them could know what she’d done. Not because Karen was ashamed — despite her creeping guilt, she still felt she had done the right thing — but because anyone examining her involvement too closely might trace their way back to Matt. And she had bigger secrets to keep for him now than his fondness for chocolate salty oat cookies.

She glanced in his direction, wondering what he was feeling about all of this. But his face reflected activity, not emotion. Matt’s head was cocked to one side and his mouth was slightly open. He was listening. Something was happening.

Karen crossed her arms and waited uneasily.

Sure enough, within minutes, a buzz began to spread through the little clumps of cast and crew members milling around.

“Cops,” Foggy said as a small group of men and women in uniform rounded the corner, headed in the direction of the room where Wilson was holed up with Joe the showrunner and the studio suits. “Wait, I know that cop.” He raised his voice. “Brett? Brett Mahoney?”

One of the NYPD officers turned his head and gave Foggy a withering look. “This ain’t the time, Foggy.”

“Right,” Foggy said, chastened.

“How do you know him?” Karen whispered.

“We’ve been enemies since we were four,” Foggy murmured back. “I can’t believe he’s an actual cop now.”

Karen wanted to ask more questions, but Foggy’s feud with an officer of the law fled her thoughts as a loud knocking rang through the hallway. The police weren’t bothering to be discreet. Everyone gathered could hear the door to the office opening and a loud, clear voice calling out, “Wilson Fisk, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit criminal damage, coercion of a government official and multiple counts of fraud…”

They went through the whole routine, which carried a surreal familiarity for everyone who worked on a legal drama like _Hell’s Kitchen_ , and then the police perp-walked Wilson right down the hallway toward the back entrance of the studio. It was as dramatic as any episode they’d ever filmed.

Wilson kept his head high as he swept past them, ringed by NYPD officers. He didn’t meet Karen’s eyes, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. A sense of triumph rippled through her — they had exposed someone who was damaging the very art form he claimed to love, and a lot of people in the process. But the feeling was immediately chased by sadness. No matter what he’d done, he still looked like her friend Wilson, who had encouraged her talent and helped show her the ropes of working for a television show when she was green and nervous.

Karen didn’t really feel like she had won. Matt’s face didn’t seem too victorious, either.

Would he regret it now, sharing his secrets with her? There was no stuffing any of it back in the bottle. A few days ago, she’d had no idea that one of her co-stars was a crook, but she’d also had no idea that another had the makings of a superhero in him.

And maybe there was something more inside her, too. Her own impulse to seek the truth had taken her beyond fear, beyond self-interest. A tug in her belly said that, like Matt, she might start to crave a different kind of future than the one she’d imagined for years.

“Karen?” Marci put her hand on Karen’s arm. “Still with us?”

Karen nodded, and she made herself join in the hugs and worried whisperings around her, trying to reassure everyone as much as she could. But it sounded hollow even to her own ears. She couldn’t shake the fear that soon she would be saying goodbye to a character she’d grown to love, to a familiar, steady job, and to actually getting _paid_ to make out with Matt Murdock.

Maybe it had always been too good to last. But there was a sad kind of irony in the fact that blowing the whistle on Wilson meant it might very well be “lights out” for _Hell’s Kitchen._

* * *

Karen barely had a chance to talk to Matt before he was whisked away for a meeting with Joe the showrunner. Once he was gone, she drifted toward her dressing room, needing a break from the sighs and speculation as she waited for her turn.

She cleaned up and changed into a spare t-shirt and jeans, not bothering to go to hair and makeup. Her schedule for the day had revolved around filming a scene with Wilson and, well, that definitely wasn’t going to happen.

Her phone buzzed constantly, but Karen mostly ignored it. She paged through her script instead, trying to pretend that she really believed the show would go on. But she couldn’t concentrate on the words amid so much uncertainty about what lay ahead. Not that it was all bad. Woven through her worries was the memory of that moment on Matt’s couch the night before, the way the billboard colored his apartment with fairytale light as their lips met, over and over again.

She had that moony-eyed, chin-in-her-hand daydreaming thing going on when Joe rapped on the frame of her open door.

Karen jumped to her feet, her reverie shattering around her. She instantly felt like one of Mike’s clients waiting to hear the jury’s verdict on _Hell’s Kitchen_. If only she could count on the magic predictability of serial TV.

“I don’t have any answers for you,” Joe said, getting to the disappointment right off the bat. “We’re still working everything out. We’ll let everyone know our decision as soon as we have one.”

Joe patted her shoulder and told her she wouldn’t be needed on set. “Go home and try to keep your mind off of all this,” he said, the strain showing in his face. “If you need to talk to someone, I’m sure we can make some resources available.”

Karen nodded. “I’m all right.”

Joe looked at her closely. “You know, there was an incident in Wilson’s dressing room last night. A security guard got hit on the head. His story doesn’t make much sense, but he did mention something about you and a script.”

“I’ve got my script right here,” Karen said, knitting her eyebrows together. “You said he had a head injury?”

“Yeah. I thought it seemed odd. But then, everything around Wilson is chaos right now. Who knows what he was up to.”

Joe shook his head in exasperation, and Karen hid her relief. Bullet dodged, at least for now.

To her surprise, Joe smiled, his dark eyes warming up. “I don’t like to pry into anyone’s personal lives, but I saw a certain photo recently. I hope you have a little happiness to offset all of this right now.”

Karen returned the smile, a glow spreading over her cheeks, until she had to look away.

She hoped so, too.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon, in the lazy light just before sunset, when Matt knocked on her apartment door.

As she answered, Karen felt grateful that she’d finally gotten a chance to shower at home. She’d followed that up by reading through Ben’s story about a billion times. All those misdeeds captured in text and revealed to the world. Away from the studio, she could allow herself to be proud. She’d helped take down the Crime Boss of Broadway.

And so had the man on her doorstep, who was holding his cane and cradling a bottle of wine. Karen was so glad to see him that she wanted to launch herself into his arms, but she held back.

“Hi,” he said eventually. “Wanted to make sure you’re OK.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, embarrassed by her waffling. “Uh, come on in.”

She relieved him of the wine and waited for him to take her elbow like he usually did. Except. “Oh, is this—I mean, do you actually need—?”

Matt’s hand curled around her arm. “It’s great,” he said. “Especially in an unfamiliar place.”

“OK,” she murmured, leading him to sit on her green couch, her favorite piece of furniture, and retrieving two glasses.

“I don’t usually drink wine,” he said uncertainly as she put them on the coffee table and used a corkscrew to open the bottle. “I didn’t know what you’d like. It’s just some cheap stuff.”

“That’s exactly what I like,” she said softly, feeling warmth creep up her neck. She cleared her throat as she glugged the wine into the glasses. “Is there, uh, any news?”

“Nothing you haven’t heard,” Matt said, accepting the drink she put into his hand.

“So we haven’t been canceled yet?”

“Nope.” Matt took a sip and swallowed. “Would it be bad for me to admit I’m kind of hoping we are?”

Karen took a swallow of her own instead of answering.

“I don’t want everyone to lose their jobs,” Matt explained quickly, “but it would simplify some things for me.”

A little pain stabbed in Karen’s chest. The show had meant so much to her. To _them_.

“So, what,” she demanded, her words sharp-edged, “you’d become a full-time vigilante? Go pro?”

“No. I don’t know.” Matt looked sheepish. “Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I should have gone to law school. All I know is I want to help people.”

Karen sighed, softening. “You do help people, you know,” she said gently. “All those letters your dad talked about. Just doing what you’re doing now — it matters.”

Matt wet his lips. “I know. But I can’t help feeling like I could do more.”

That was a feeling Karen was becoming familiar with. But she also knew that she had no idea what she could do with that impulse yet, and she wasn’t as sanguine as Matt was at the thought of losing the job she’d worked her whole career to get.

“There has to be some way—”

Matt’s phone interrupted her with an announcement of “Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.” Karen’s buzzed just seconds later with an incoming call — _Marci Stahl_.

Karen walked toward her kitchen to give them both a bit of privacy as she picked up. Marci’s voice on the other end of the line was jubilant, and the news came out in a rush.

_Hell’s Kitchen_ was staying on the air. They would take a brief hiatus to rejigger the rest of the season’s storylines, but the studio wanted to push ahead without Wilson.

“That’s great,” Karen said, forcing enthusiasm into her tone as she rubbed at a speck on her otherwise shiny refrigerator. The decision should have been an overwhelmingly welcome one, but now all she felt was conflicted.

Matt was sitting silently on her couch when she made her way back into the living room. She sank down next to him.

“So… what are you going to do?” Karen asked when she couldn’t handle the suspense any longer. She wasn’t thrilled at the way her heart had dropped into her stomach. Caring about someone this much was never easy.

“I have a contract. I’ll honor it.” Matt turned his head to face her. “And I’ll keep doing what I have to do.”

Karen nodded, letting out the breath she’d been holding.

“You can’t keep getting your face busted up,” she said tenderly. “Claire’s good but she’s not a miracle worker. It’s going to show on camera.”

“Maybe I could do bigger stunts,” Matt said with a sad smile. “Blame it on that.”

“Because that won’t raise eyebrows at all.” Karen glanced down at her lap, then at Matt’s hands with their bruised knuckles. “Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it at all. But maybe you could try something more in the daytime… so it doesn’t all have to come out at night.”

“What do you mean?”

Karen’s mind raced with possibilities. “You’re a celebrity. You have money. You could use that.”

“I already work with charities,” Matt said. “I don’t think…”

“You could go bigger. I mean, you play a Hell’s Kitchen lawyer on TV. So you could...I don’t know, open a free legal clinic here. Think of the publicity you could get for that. Marci knows a ton of lawyers. Maybe you could get some to donate time pro bono?” She shifted closer to Matt as her excitement grew. “You could even offer help people who were hurt by Wilson or who have discrimination claims.”

Matt tilted his head. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Karen shrugged happily. “It’s a start. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“We?” Matt asked, very quietly.

“Oh, I mean, you will.” Karen bit her lip. She was getting ahead of herself.

“Karen…” Matt put his hand over hers. A shiver of pure gold ran down her spine. “I don’t know where any of this is going to lead,” he said, “but I was hoping we could move forward… together. Though I understand if it’s too—”

She answered him by doing what she’d been dying to do since he showed up at her door. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. They kept on kissing, even after their smiles grew too wide for it to really work, and Karen knew they would’ve looked totally ridiculous on camera.

But now she couldn’t care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I couldn't stop there... So, a little epilogue will be coming in the next few days. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

_A few months later_

Karen snuggled closer to Matt, her hair spilling messily over the silk pillow beneath her. She’d gotten completely lost in the moment. Her brow was dampened and her cheeks were flushed, and she was absolutely glowing.

She must be, anyway. Because she felt the way Matt looked, and _he_ was absolutely glowing.

“We shouldn’t keep doing this,” she said breathlessly.

“But how can we stop?” Matt asked between the kisses he was pressing up the side of her neck. “Do you… _want_ to stop?” His mouth reached her ear and traced its curves, drawing a low moan from her throat.

“We’re going to be late,” she murmured weakly.

“They won’t miss us.”

She pulled his head to hers and kissed him deeply, rolling until she was more than half on top of him. She touched her forehead to his, letting her hair cascade around them.

“We’re the only ones in the scene,” she reminded him.

“Ah, right,” Matt said and flipped her suddenly, making her let out a little laughing shriek. “I guess we should go then.”

He gave her a peck that was more smirk than kiss, and got out of the bed they now shared more often than not. He paused to stretch lazily, giving her a full view of his nude form in the early morning light. She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Your tricks won’t work on me.”

He chuckled. “I would never attempt anything underhanded with you, Your Honor.”

Karen grinned as she sat up. Mayor Paige _did_ have a nice ring to it.

With the use of a body double and some clever camera angles, _Hell’s Kitchen_ had managed to work around Wilson’s absence for the remainder of Season 2. A few days ago, they had gotten the script for the final episode, in which Mayor King would be killed off in a perhaps not-totally-shocking twist.

The bigger surprise to Karen had been Paige’s story. In the closing moments of the show, she would be promoted to fill the role of the city’s acting mayor — a position where she could work with a certain lawyer-slash-love-interest to create positive change in Hell’s Kitchen and beyond.

It was a happy and hopeful ending for Paige and Mike. And the start of a brand-new chapter for Karen and Matt.

When shooting was over, Matt would be taking a break from acting — possibly forever. He planned to concentrate full-time on running the legal clinic that they’d opened above Fogwell’s, spending his days overseeing volunteer operations and drumming up donations with special appearances and speaking engagements. 

That would leave his nights free to do what he still felt needed to be done.

Not that he was waiting patiently for the right time. He was already going out sometimes even now. After a particularly nasty black eye, Matt had been pretty much forced to take Claire into his confidence, and Karen realized she’d underestimated just how big of a miracle Claire could actually perform. 

In return for her divine handiwork with the concealer, all Claire had asked was to be involved with the legal clinic. She now sat on the board of directors, providing valuable help with her keen perception and her knack for working with even the most difficult people.

So far, Matt’s cuts and bruises had sailed under the radar.

Still, it wasn’t enough, at least not in Karen’s opinion. Matt needed to get fewer cuts and bruises in the first place. So the three of them were discussing whether to bring Melvin into their small circle as well, to ask him to improve upon the suit he’d unwittingly provided on the night of the theater sabotage. Something that could afford Matt more protection.

What Karen really wanted was for him to be wrapped up in head-to-toe kevlar or something. Though he did look awfully good the way he was dressed now — wearing just a pair of fleecy-soft sweatpants as he sauntered toward her, carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

“More tricks?” she asked skeptically, and Matt laughed. He waited while she carefully took the mug from him, then he leaned down to kiss her head.

“Not unless you can be persuaded to join me in the shower,” he rumbled.

Karen licked her lips slowly. The offer was intensely tempting, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they would never make it to the set if she gave in. “Nice try.”

Matt gave her a wounded puppy look that cracked into a smile before he headed for the bathroom.

Karen allowed herself a few sips of coffee and a few moments of regretful, lusty fantasy, then forced herself out of bed. She pulled on one of Matt’s shirts and started getting her stuff together for the day at the studio.

Shooting the last episode was going to be bittersweet. Matt wasn’t the only one planning big changes when the show wrapped. A few months ago, Karen’s head had danced with visions of palm trees and convertibles and studio backlots when she thought about what the conclusion of Season 2 would bring. And she’d actually gotten a few movie offers after her trip to LA. But none of them felt right. 

What Karen had in mind now was an entirely different kind of project. One that she would need Foggy’s help with.

Foggy had unexpectedly embraced Matt’s decision to take a break from acting, even without knowing the secrets that drove it — not yet, anyway. (One thing at a time, Matt said, but Karen had a feeling it would be soon. Jack was another story. Maybe someday.) Foggy pointed out that he had tired of being in front of the camera himself years ago, and he had become one of the legal clinic’s biggest supporters. Lately, he was making noises about wanting to produce once he was done as Matt’s manager.

And Karen had an idea to pitch. 

Since the arrest of Wilson and his cronies, the media had largely moved on to the next big scandal — even Ben, whose job wasn’t really focused on long-term investigative journalism. But Karen couldn’t let it go. She’d spent much of her free time over the last few months unearthing more evidence of Wilson’s corruption and researching the way his influence had completely reshaped theater in New York. With Foggy’s backing, she thought she had the makings of a compelling documentary about the Crime Boss of Broadway — one that could shine an unerring light on the truth.

Documentary filmmaker sounded like a pretty satisfying second act.

Karen was thinking about her pitch to Foggy and running a brush through her hair when Matt reemerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Did you leave me any hot water?” she teased while he started getting dressed.

“Oops,” he said as he buttoned his pants. “Maybe you should have taken me up on my offer when you had the chance.”

But his response was half-hearted, and his expression seemed distracted.

“What is it?” Karen asked, crossing the room to him. He was reaching into the closet for a shirt, but he dropped his hand back to his side at the question.

“Nothing,” he said, letting out a self-deprecating huff. “It’s just hitting me. How close we are to the end.”

Karen wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his bare shoulder.

“As far as I’m concerned,” she said, a smile coloring her voice as she thought back to that not-long-ago day when everything changed, “we’re just getting started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only way a story with this many callbacks could possibly end was with callbacks to the beginning! :D
> 
> Thanks to everyone who indulged me in this flight of fancy — I appreciate you all more than you can know.


End file.
